


Give Me Truths

by iwillpaintasongforlou



Series: The Rainbow Cookie [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Emotional Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Foul Language, Graphic Scenes, HAPPY ENDING PROMISED, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Punk Louis, Punk!Louis, Top Louis, Virgin Harry, basically harry is the victim of a very bad guy and louis takes care of him forever, genius louis, hate language, mostly fluff tbh, sexual orientation slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:00:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 110,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/iwillpaintasongforlou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>'Just like a little cat,' Louis thought later, as he drifted off to sleep. 'A little kitten with his claws sunk right into me.' It isn’t that terrible of a thought, after all.<i></i></i><br/>.............<br/>Louis is a psychology student with a tattoo count as high as his genius IQ. Harry is in a (sort-of) relationship with a homophobic man and hates himself a little more every day. Things fall apart and Louis puts him back together.</p><p>Or, the one in which Louis falls in love with a fragile boy and tells him every beautiful truth in the world, as long as it makes him happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Give Me Truths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186554) by [itsgettingheavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsgettingheavier/pseuds/itsgettingheavier)



> Dedicated to tumblr user beautifulboyband, who has received this in 3am chunks over the last 7 months. Jenny, you are my muse and this is as much my baby as yours. <3

The first thing Louis noticed when he opened his eyes was that this was _not_ his bed.

It was a lot _like_ his- same metal frame, same cinderblock walls beyond it, same slightly musty smell of boy to it. But it was the details that were all wrong. The duvet was red instead of blue. There was only one pillow (Louis had five). And of course, there was the odd occurrence that Louis was on the floor _next to_ the bed and another boy was actually in it.

As he sat up, the events of the night before came back to Louis. He’d met some guy at the bar down the street that everyone from King’s College went to, and they’d hit it off. Louis was far enough along in drinks to be tipsy, but still in control. The guy (John, was it?) had invited him back to his dorm… and the rest was just details.

The sun was streaming through the window but John appeared to still be snoozing away in bed, so Louis found his phone and checked the time. 11:50. _So I’ll probably be late for my 12:00 class, then._

He put serious thought into not showing up at all- there was no way humanly possible he’d make it across campus and into his seat in the next ten minutes. He could go back to sleep right here- or better yet, go back to _his_ dorm and sleep in _his_ bed.

But Louis rose quietly and gathered his belongings, because Liam was in that 12 o’clock class and he’d be annoyingly worried if Louis didn’t at least make an effort to show. John didn’t even wake up as Louis slipped out of the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Maybe someone else would have found the Walk of Shame more, well, shameful. Louis just spent the time it took him to pick across the campus worrying about whether his hair looked okay enough or if he should maybe go home and shower really quick. In the end, he skipped the shower and opted for the old, “15 minutes late with Starbucks” plan.

Liam rolled his eyes so hard it had to have hurt when Louis finally slipped into the seat next to him at the table in the far back of their lecture. “Seriously, Louis? You couldn’t be arsed to set your alarm this morning, but you could spare the time to get coffee?” he whispered.

“How much would it help my case if I told you I brought you some, too?” Apparently quite a bit, because Liam scowled a lot less with a hot latte in his hand. “And for the record, it wasn’t my fault. I’m sure my alarm clock went off just fine without me, I just couldn’t hear it all the way across campus.”

For a second it seemed like Liam wouldn’t answer, too busy scribbling in his notebook to be bothered with Louis’ story. But then Liam pushed the pad towards him, his neat handwriting spelling out a message.

_don’t be so loud, people are trying to learn!! but spill- where WERE you last night? I was worried_  
 **With your mum.**  
 _I think we both know she isn’t your type_  
 **Fine. Some guy I met at the campus bar.**  
 _you spent the night with him???_  
 **Sorry mother, I know I should have checked with you first.**  
 _Did you guys…_  
 **Did we what?**  
 _You know…_  
 **If you’re asking whether I stuck my cock up his ass, the answer is no.**  
 _do you have to say it like that?!_  
 **We’ve had this discussion before, Liam. You need to use your words to express yourself. I can’t read your mind. You’re twenty years old, you have the vocabulary to communicate your needs and emotions.**  
 _don’t bullshit me mister, you practikcaly read my mind as it is. And you’re twenty-one, shouldn’t you have the vocablary to say it a little more decent?_  
 **Decent? Unfamiliar word. Please define.**  
 _I’m ignoring you. But srsly though, you didnt sleep with him??_  
 **NOPE. Not even in the literal sense. I woke up on his floor ten minutes before class started.**  
 _why_  
 **Presumably because I went to sleep there.**  
 _could you for once in your life not be a twat_  
 **For you, Liam? I’ll try my best. The short version is that I knew if we fucked he’d get very attached, and he’d be heartbroken when he found out I wasn’t looking for anything more than that. So.**  
 _You didn’t want to break his heart awww_  
 **See, I think THAT makes me sound like more of a twat than anything I said.**  
 _what DID you do all night, then why didn’t you come back to the room?_  
 **His roommate was out, so we sat around and talked. Sort of a free therapy session. Mommy issues and still not over his first love.**

Liam didn’t write anything back, but it was only because he’d heard all he needed to. Louis could joke all he wanted, but Liam knew the truth about what kind of person lay beneath all that sass.

When class ended at two, Louis had to be woken up to leave. (“Well I’m _sorry,_ Liam, but someone had to stay up all night and counsel that kid out of an Oedipus complex.”) From the second his eyes opened, though, he was running calculations on whether the offense of snoozing in Social Psychology was really worthy of the scowl on his best friend’s face.

(It wasn’t.)

“What’s wrong, Li?” He asked as they were walking out of the building. “And if you try to say it’s about something I did, I’d like to remind you that I’ve been studying body language for three years and can spot one of your shitty lies.”

Liam rolled his eyes and didn’t even try. “Nervous.”

“About what?”

“Exam tonight in my 5 o’clock class. I’ve been revising for it all week.”

“Then what do you have to be nervous for?” Louis asked, peering closely at the other boy. “I know your study habits, Liam, and if you’ve studied for a week you’re more than prepared.”

“Yeah, but this is in that Sociological Theory class, and I only understand about twenty percent of what we talk about. This exam is worth an enormous chunk of my grade, and if I flunk it-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Louis interrupted, moving in from of Liam and stopping his walk with a hand on his chest. He could feel the stressed heart rate through Liam’s polo. “Take a deep breath for me, first of all. Good. Now listen. How many exams have you failed at uni?”

“None.”

“How many exams have you taken?”

“Jesus, Lou, I don’t know…”

“A shit ton, that’s how many. You’ve been revising all week, you go to every lecture, you take notes, and you’re a fucking brilliant student. Is any of what I said untrue?”

“Well, no-”

“Then there’s absolutely no reason why you won’t do well on this test, alright? Seriously. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll ace it. And _after_ you’ve aced that exam, you and I will go out and get absolutely fucking smashed, yeah?”

Despite himself, Liam laughed and looked like he felt much better. “You don’t fool me, you know,” he noted after a pause. “You act like you’re some party boy asshole, but you’re just a softie. Giving pep talks to your friends. And looking out for that kid last night.”

There’s a special kind of fondness that Louis doesn’t give to just anyone, but his gaze was full of it now as he gazed at Liam. “Well don’t fucking tell anyone, you prick,” was all he said. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Mmhmm. Where are you off to?”

Louis screwed up his face in thought. “What day of the week is it?”

“You need to lay off the alcohol, seriously. Friday.”

“Then I’m going to the library to meet Niall. We’re studying for Developmental Psych.”

“You? _Studying?_ Whatever. Go bother the Irish one, then. Will I see you tonight?”

“I was serious about getting shit-faced,” Louis replied with a grin. “Especially now that I know it’s Friday! What time does your exam let out?”

“Seven.”

“Perfect. Text me when you’re done and we’ll go, alright?”

“Okay,” Liam agreed good-naturedly, starting to walk away.

Before he can get more than a few steps, Louis catches up and ruffles his hair. “I’m serious about that exam. You’re going to smash it.”

“Okay.”

“Go get ‘em, kid.”

“Later, mate.”

Louis was still all full of fondness when he got to the library- early for once- and met up with Niall. The latter seemed delighted to be matched in enthusiasm for once; the first thing that everyone noticed about Niall was how genuinely delighted he was at just about everything. There was a joy in him that could neither be tamed nor easily understood.

“Hey, Louis!” Niall grinned when he entered, looking at Louis with that usual gaze of _‘you are what the earth revolves around.’_

“Hello, Nialler. Alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good! Just been chillin’ out me dorm, watching telly. You?”

“Class with Liam just before this, but still alright.” Louis lowered himself into the chair across the table from Niall. The study room they’ve reserved includes four spinny chairs around a table and a computer hooked up to a TV controlled by a wireless keyboard, which Louis immediately seized control of.

“You know we really need to focus, right?” Niall said, but by that time Louis was already pulling up YouTube. “Our midterm is on Monday.”

“I’m not all that worried about it.”

“You haven’t attended a lecture in two weeks.”

“That’s true. Do you have a point?”

“My point is that Liam and I both agree that if we don’t force you to study a little, you’re going to flunk out.”

“Niall!” Louis exclaimed, abruptly wounded. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

At least he has the decency to look a little ashamed of himself. “I _am_ on your side. And so’s Li. Just so happens that we’re all on the side of you studying, mate.”

“I don’t like this. I don’t like you and Liam being in league,” Louis scowled. “It’s an unhealthy relationship, yours. But if you _insist…”_ He closed out the YouTube video playing on the big screen and grabbed some papers from Niall’s stack of messy notes. “Satisfied?”

And Niall was, even when forty minutes had passed and Louis’ “studying” had devolved into him just scribbling little drawings in the margins of Niall’s notes. The latest masterpiece was a stick figure riding a skateboard down a hill, and Louis is quite proud of it, thankyouverymuch.

By the time 3:45 rolled around, Louis was on his phone and done pretending that he was studying at all. “As riveting as this is,” he said to break the silence, “I’ve got to be going. Important things to take care of.”

“Like what?”

“That new Marvel movie. 4 pm showing.”

“You’re going to flunk!” Niall called, but Louis was already gone.

Later, as the lights came up in the theatre and he was bursting at the seams with disgustingly fattening popcorn, Louis bothered to look at his phone for the first time in hours. He had several texts off Liam, he noticed immediately.

 **_(Liam, 4:02 PM)_ ** _niall told me you ditched him to go to the moviessssss  
_ ** _(Liam, 4:05 PM)_ ** _u know that kid worships u, rt? probably broke his heart :(  
_ ** _(Liam, 4:06 PM)_ **_now ur karma from the one last night is all cancelled out bad bad louuuiiiiisssss_

 **_(Louis, 6:34 PM)_ ** _Really, because Niall told ME that you two have been talking about my study habits behind my back.  
_ ** _(Louis, 6:35 PM)_ **_Just take your exam and text me when you’re done, twat. I’m going to be at the diner._

So Louis made his way from the theater to the diner he liked but Liam hated, ordered a tea to settle his stomach, and got comfy in the booth with his tea and his phone. Liam would be another hour, probably- just enough time for Louis to valiantly try but ultimately lose all of his lives on Candy Crush.

He made it through 30 minutes of interruption-free gaming before he got restless. There were too many people around, too many things to watch. He put the phone down and sipped his tea, lavishing his full attention on the other customers in the diner instead of the surreptitious glances he’d been throwing around the whole time.

He’d noticed the curly-haired boy on the other side of the room right away. Of course he had- how could he not? The kid was gorgeous. Not in the runway model way, not really, but in that bonafide, I-was-born-this-way-and-couldn’t-be-ugly-if-I-tried way. He was sort of curled in on himself, but it was still obvious that he had long, thin limbs. His head rested on his arms, face towards Louis and eyes closed, maybe sleeping there on the table with headphones in and food abandoned.

But then he stirred, opening his eyes to pick up a chip and put it down again with a heavy sigh. Before he had even resettled on his arms, the boy had made it obvious to Louis that there was a deep sadness there.

It was sort of breaking Louis’ heart. And he didn’t even _know_ the kid.

Ten minutes later when the waitress came over to check on him, Louis was still thinking about the sad boy over at the far table. He pushed down Liam’s voice in his head (“Louis, leave people alone. Not everyone wants your help or your opinion, okay? Just leave them be.”) and cleared his throat.

“Hey. This is kind of weird, but- can I ask you for a favor?”

The girl hesitated for a second, but when Louis’ most charming smile didn’t waver she gave a little shrug. “Um, sure?”

“You see that boy over there?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly in the direction of the mane of curls. “The one with the dark hair, in the grey tee.”

“With his head down?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Okay. What about him?”

There was a blush creeping up his neck, Louis knew, and he hated that. “If I buy a cookie, will you go give it to him and tell him that someone wants him to cheer up?”

The look the waitress gave him was a pretty firm indicator that this was not exactly run-of-the-mill here. “You want to send someone a cookie to cheer them up?”

“Oh come on, don’t make it weird. It’s just like buying someone a drink at a bar! Except I don’t want you to tell him who it’s from. And I’m not trying to get him to sleep with me.”

The girl- Frances, he took the time to read off of her name tag- snorted a little at that. “Okay, alright. What kind of cookie?”

“Uhh… the one with the M&Ms in it.” _He looks like the type to be amused by brightly-colored objects._

As Frances walked away to get the cookie, Louis hurried to make himself look busy on his phone- Candy Crush, level 176. He propped his feet up on the seat across from him, tugged his beanie down, and tried very hard to pretend like he had no interest whatsoever in what was going on across the restaurant.

But Louis was definitely watching- and listening- as Frances approached the boy’s table. “Excuse me?” she said quietly, reaching out to brush her fingertips across his upper arm. “Sir?”

The curly head popped up at her touch, the boy blinking and tugging the earbuds from his ears. “Uhm. Yes?”

“This is for you,” she said, offering him the cookie.

He didn’t even look surprised. “I didn’t order that.”

“I know. It’s from, erm, someone else. A customer. They want you to cheer up.”

Maybe it wasn’t exactly as smooth as Louis would have liked, but she got the job done. The kid reached out slowly, hesitantly, to take the treat Frances held out to him. “Thank you, then. I guess.” And then he smiled –a tiny, unsure, barely-there smile, but a smile nonetheless.

 _Mission accomplished._ Louis tried to keep the satisfied smirking to a minimum as he hunched over and returned his attention to Candy Crush. Level 176 was almost vanquished when something came gently to rest on the table just beyond where his phone was laying.

It was an M&M cookie.

It was hard to tell which shot up faster, Louis’ eyebrows or his head. The boy was just standing there by Louis’ table, gazing quietly at him without saying anything. “What’s this?” Louis asked when inquisitive glances were met only with silence.

“You bought me a cookie.”

And Louis wasn’t one to lie- he would bend and twist and trick the truth all day, but when it came right down to it, he’d do just about anything to avoid a bold-faced lie. So he just gazed quietly back at this boy and asked, “Why would I do that?”

He looked slightly taken aback. “I don’t know. Maybe you took pity on me. Thought I was too skinny or something. Or that I couldn’t afford it.”

Louis couldn’t help but let his eyes flick over the kid’s body. He _was_ thin, the drawn out kind of slenderness that happened when teen boys got caught in their never-ending growth spurts. And maybe his clothes looked a little shabby, but not in the way that would make you think he couldn’t afford to eat. He just looked like a normal teenager.

“If whoever bought you that cookie did it because they thought that,” Louis began carefully, “they would be stupid. You look fine, I promise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You didn’t have to be a professional people-person to hear the submissive tremor in that short sentence. Louis watched him shrink in on himself as he waited for a response.

“It means that you don’t look too skinny or too poor or whatever. You look fine. Listen, someone wanted you to have the cookie, so just take it and enjoy it, okay?”

“I know it was you.” Louis was still trying to come up with a response that didn’t involve a lie when the boy pulled the end of his headphones from the pocket they were tucked into, showing off the bare connector. “I wasn’t listening to anything. I heard you talking to the waitress.”

“Why’d you have headphones in if you weren’t listening to anything?” Louis hedged.

“So no one would bother me.”

“And yet you came all the way over here to chat with me.”

Immediately, the pale skin of his cheeks lit up in a blush. “I’m sorry. Should I not have? I’m sorry, I’ll just-”

“Jeez, kid, I’m only teasing,” Louis said, stopping just short of catching the boy’s sleeve as he started to walk away. “You can talk to whoever you want to, me included. Me especially.”

“What does that mean?”

He seemed to be asking that sort of question an awful lot, Louis noticed. “It means I’m friendly. I won’t bite, I promise. I buy rainbow cookies for strangers, so if you think about it I can really only be but _so_ mean.”

“Why rainbow?”

And for once, Louis had been asked a question where he couldn’t figure out what they wanted to hear just by reading their mind. “Wh- what?”

“Did you choose rainbow because I look too gay?”

There were a few long, tense seconds before Louis could shut his slack-jawed mouth and think of something to say. When he did reply, it was with all of the diplomacy three years of university had taught him. “You can’t “look” gay,” he began slowly. “Sexuality and appearance are two completely different constructs. But if you’re asking whether you look like the popular media stereotype of gay, the answer is no.”

That must have been the right answer, because a little of the defensive hunch left the boy’s shoulders. “Oh. Okay. Good.”

Louis didn’t ask why not looking “gay” was so important to him. _Not your business, Tomlinson._

But this stranger seemed more than willing to volunteer information about his personal life. “But I have a boyfriend. So I still can’t take this cookie.”

The word did not escape Louis’ notice, but he didn’t comment. “I sent you a baked good, not an invitation to fuck,” he said with a grin.

The younger boy’s face turned so abruptly to distress that Louis wished he could shove all of his words back in his mouth. _Boundaries, Lou, what the fuck!_ he scolded internally. Out loud, he just focused on damage control. “Shit, kid, I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just meant- I just wanted you to cheer up, okay? Because you looked down. And rainbow M &Ms are cheerful. As is chocolate. Ergo the cookie.”

No response.

“Listen,” Louis sighed, “if you heard me talking to the waitress, you heard me tell her that I was trying to cheer you up, and that I didn’t mean anything by it, right?”

He nods.

“Then there you have it. That’s all it is. Just a stupid cookie.”

“But you’re being really nice for no reason,” the boy says at last. “Why?”

 _Doesn’t your boyfriend ever buy you things to make you smile?_ Louis wants to ask, but doesn’t. He’s smarter than that. Plus he can hear Liam’s voice in his head muttering about boundaries some more. “I told you, I buy rainbow cookies for strangers. I can’t really be all that mean, can I?”

And there it is, another little smile. He gives it up almost reluctantly, like he didn’t intend to smile at Louis but also didn’t have a choice. “Well. Um. Thank you, then.” His fingers inch towards the cookie on the table, waiting for Louis to tell him he isn’t allowed to have it anymore.

Louis doesn’t tell him that. “What’s your name?”

“Me?”

“No, the other lad I’m talking to. Yes, you. Silly,” he adds to soften it.

“Oh. Um. Harry.”

“Very nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Louis.” And then, despite his better judgment, “Would you like to join me while you’re enjoying that cookie?”

Harry looks more surprised than offended though. “You want me to sit with you?”

“That’s why I asked, yeah.”

“Where everyone can see us?”

Louis filed that one away in the back of his mind, right next to the spot where he was keeping all of the other strange things Harry had said. “If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. I’m not trying to make things weird or anything, I just figured I’d offer.”

“No, I- um. Let me grab my stuff.”

The grin didn’t split Louis’ face until Harry turned to shuffle back to his seat. When he returned, Harry was carrying a worn rucksack and his long-forgotten basket of chicken strips and chips and Louis was as cool, calm, and collected as ever.

He tipped his chin at Harry’s food. “Aren’t those cold by now? You haven’t touched them in half an hour.”

“You’ve been watching me for half an hour?”

“I watch everybody all the time, thank you very much. It’s called being observant.”

Harry doesn’t buy it, but doesn’t comment, either. “I’m a uni student, I’m used to cold food. Plus I need the calories. Boyfriend says I look like a stick figure.”

It takes all of Louis’ minimal tact to skip the counselor lecture on letting other people’s opinions define our self-image. Instead, he goes for a casual, “Oh, you’re in uni? Where at?”

“Kings College. First year.”

“Me too, but I’m in my third. What’s your major? No, wait,” Louis interrupts before he can get a response. “Let me guess. You’re studying… business. Am I right?”

He looks too young to be at uni when his eyes get all big and shocked like that. “How did you know?”

“You must not have met very many psychology students. We _know_ things.”

“Psychology?” Louis nods his head in confirmation. “Are you going to be like, a shrink?”

“Something like that. Maybe. Haven’t decided yet.”

Harry seemed to mull this over very seriously for a few moments, demolishing chip after chip like it was his job to eat and he was going for employee of the month. “That fits,” he decided. “You’d be good at that.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well first of all, you ask a lot of questions,” Harry says slyly, which makes Louis blush because _he can’t help it if he needs to know everything, okay?_ “And you’re really nice and you like to help people. So. Isn’t that pretty much what a therapist does?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” confirms Louis. “Do you live on campus?” he continues, because he’s really more comfortable getting inside other people’s heads than letting them get in his.

Both of them notice that’s yet another question, and Harry’s smirk because of it is aimed right at Louis. “No, I live in a flat.”

“With your parents?”

“Nah. Art major named Zayn.”

“Zayn Malik?”

“Yeah.” Harry is surprised again. “Do you know him?”

“I know _of_ him. We had a class together last year. Second year, right? Seemed like a cool lad.” And he _was_ cool- pretty much the definition of it. Zayn Malik was all tattoos and smoke rings and spray paint murals on the back of the library. He was also one of the few openly gay dudes on campus who was still universally adored. “Is that your boyfriend?” Louis pried.

He’s blushing. “Zayn? No, no, he’s not- he’s just a mate. My boyfriend is Thomas. Well- not boyfriend, not really.”

“Ah. Unrequited love?”

“No, nothing like that,” replied Harry.

It seems like an odd response to Louis, because he’s pretty damn good at reading faces and Harry’s face is positively _radiating_ ‘I love him but he doesn’t know I exist’ vibes.

But he doesn’t tell Harry that, of course, because he’s got a calm voice in the back of his mind reminding him that _you’re an acquaintance, not his therapist. You don’t get to ask personal questions unless he’s volunteering details._ He settles for “Oh.”

Again, Harry is a wellspring of information that Louis dared not ask for. “I mean, we’re a- a thing, but he’s not, um.”

“Out?” prompted Louis.

“Yeah. So we’re not like, public or anything.” And just like that, Harry’s face is clouded and worried. “Actually, I probably shouldn’t have said anything. You can’t tell anyone, okay? I told him I wouldn’t tell anyone-”

“Whoa, whoa, calm down,” Louis said, leaning forward and quieting Harry with his earnestness. The boy looks like he’s about to have a panic attack. “Of course I’m not going to tell anyone. Don’t worry about it. That’s his decision, and yours. I don’t even know any Thomases, anyways.”

That seems to have calmed him down at least a little. “Okay. Good. I mean thank you. But just- in case we see each other on campus or something.”

“Oh, you think that just because I invited you to sit with me we’re friends now? That’s a little pretentious.” But Louis sees Harry’s mortified blush and cuts him off before he can say a word. “I’m teasing, kid. Of course we’ll see each other around. We’ll hang out sometime, yeah?”

He looks incredibly hopeful. “Really?”

“Yeah, of course. We’ll find something we both like to do and we’ll do it. What do business majors do for fun, anyways?” Louis joked, stealing a chip off Harry’s basket. It’s frigid and disgusting. _He must really be hungry._

Harry doesn’t seem to mind. “Well. I like music a lot.”

“Even though you don’t have an iPod.”

“Well I had all my music on my phone. But. I broke it.”

“What did you do that for, then?”

“It was an accident,” replied Harry quite seriously, before his lips broke into a smile. “Wait. You’re teasing again, aren’t you?”

“I nearly always am, sweetheart.”

“Right. Well I accidentally washed it. Or. Thomas did, actually. He went to wash a load of my laundry and didn’t check the pockets first.”

“Newbie. It only takes one or two incidents of lip gloss exploding in your dryer to learn that you _always_ check the pockets first.”

“Do you often leave lip gloss in your pockets…?”

“I have a lot of little sisters, thank you very much.” Louis sniffed, which only made Harry laugh. It’s a loud, unbridled laugh that’s probably too big to be appropriate. Louis likes it, he thinks.

“So music then?” Louis said casually when Harry was finished. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Everything, kind of. I just like all music,” answered Harry after careful consideration. “But right now I’m really into The 1975. Do you like them?”

Louis’ never heard of them. “Do they have any concerts around here coming up? I’d love to see them play.” It isn’t a lie. He wants inside that part of Harry’s head, too.

The trickery was worth it, because Harry was all lit up in a smile again. “Next week, actually. I was thinking about going… Do you, um- do you want to come?”

“Absolutely. I’d love to,” Louis said warmly, enjoying the way that when Harry grins, his whole body gets involved. _All_ of him is smiling. “Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in it- oh. Shit. You don’t have one.”

Harry winced, and Louis had just enough time to start worrying if Harry knew he was teasing him again before the younger boy was back to eyeing him in nervous excitement. “You could write it down for me? I should be getting a new phone soon. So. I could text you or something.”

There’s a pen in one of Louis’ pockets, and he didn’t have to be told twice. The cookie he sent to Harry was still laying on the table between them, so Louis scooped it up and scribbled his number on the little paper wrapping. “Eat the cookie,” he told Harry, thinking of how eagerly he gobbled up the cold, greasy food, “but don’t lose the wrapper, okay? I’m expecting a text from you, mister.”

Curls bobbed eagerly as Harry rushed to assure him that he would be texting the moment he got a new phone, but he needn’t have bothered. After all, Louis is very good at reading people.

“Hey, mate,” a familiar voice called from somewhere beyond Harry, and Louis looked past him to see Liam coming in from the cold. One eyebrow was quirked up curiously as he glanced between Louis and the mane of curls that was all he could see of Harry from this angle. “What’s up?” _Translation: who’s this?_

Louis didn’t give him what he wanted. “Liam! How’d the exam go?”

“Easier than I expected, actually. Nothing I hadn’t studied for. Although I think I got the date wrong on one of the short answers…”

“Oh, so you aced it.”

Liam sighed. “Lou…”

“If only there had been someone there to assure you how well you were going to do. Someone to support and encourage you. Someone handsome and intelligent, perhaps.”

“Can we not do this right now-”

“Oh, wait! That was me. I did that. What a lucky lad you are.”

“You’re a prick. And you are…?” Liam said smoothly, turning his gaze from Louis to Harry and raising his eyebrows in curiosity.

Harry, who had been bouncing his head back and forth between the two as he tried to follow the banter, looked surprised to be addressed. “Oh-me?”

The fact that there was no sass in Liam’s reply was a lovely example of the difference between him and his roommate. “Yeah, I’m not sure we’ve met before.”

“You haven’t,” Louis jumped in. “Harry, this is my roommate, Liam Payne. Liam, this is Harry- erm?”

“Styles.”

“This is Harry Styles. We’ve only just met,” added Louis before Liam could start making things awkward with his over-protective father Spanish Inquisition routine.

He could tell Liam wanted to ask anyways _-How did you meet? Why are you sitting together? Why are you warning me with your eyes?-_ but Louis wouldn’t let him. It was enough that Harry seemed delighted to have both of their attentions. Nosy roomies would have to wait until later to satisfy their curiosity.

“My pleasure,” was all Liam replied, offering a hand to Harry to shake. He did so, hesitantly, and a moment of only slightly uncomfortable silence passed before Louis was once again addressed. “We still on for tonight?”

A laugh bubbled up out of Louis’ chest. “What’s this? Liam Payne actually volunteering for mischief instead of being dragged against his will? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“When I said I aced that exam, I meant I _aced_ it,” Liam winked.

“Well then, by all means- let’s go get you properly inebriated!” His words were sure, but Louis’ eyes were hesitant as they flickered between Liam and the fresh-faced boy in front of him. “Harry, did you- do you want to come along with us for some drinks? If you’re even 18- shit, you _are_ eighteen, right?”

“I’m nineteen,” he replied, a little affronted.

“No offense, I was just checking,” soothed Louis. “You’ve got a baby face, I hate to break it to you.”

“It’s true,” Liam helped.

“Thank you, Liam. Now, Harry, do you fancy joining us?” The hesitation was written all over Harry’s face, so Louis softened the charm a little. “Hey, no worries if you don’t want to. In fact, I’d generally advise that you _didn’t_ go along with strangers and lose control of your faculties. But. I’m a Psych major and Liam’s Soc, so we’re both people persons and we promise not to take advantage of you. So.”

Harry shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I trust you,” he says, and Louis almost swallows his tongue during the Herculean effort of not commenting on that. Harry didn’t notice. “It’s just- you won’t like me when I’m drunk. I act… weird.”

“Can’t be weirder than Louis, though,” Liam teased. “Get enough drinks in him and he gets to be a total slag, dancing all over random guys. Can hardly take him anywhere, this one.”

“I can’t even deny it,” Louis solemnly confirms. He’s biting back words again, trying to quell the overactive imagination that’s currently running scenarios of what drunk Harry must act like if it’s enough to make him blush like this. “It can’t be all _that_ bad.”

But Harry’s not budging. “I shouldn’t. Maybe- maybe some other time, though.”

And that has to be enough for Louis. He gives Harry the warmest, least threatening smile you can manage with eyeliner and tattoos covering most of your body. “Of course,” he assures quietly. “I should probably get going, then, before Liam remembers he’s a good boy and decides to waste another Friday night studying. You’ll text though, when you get a new phone?” he asks, throwing cash on the table for his meal and rising.

Harry stands too and smiles brightly at Louis. “Yes! Yeah. I will.”

Privately, Louis thinks to himself that Harry’s curls were made to be messed up, but he tucks his hand into his pocket before it can reach out and do something it shouldn’t, like rifle through said curls. “Right. Well I’ll see you around then, yeah? Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

“Hopefully,” Harry beams.

Louis turns away from the 1,000-kilowatt smile –he _has_ to turn away from the 1,000-kilowatt smile –and looks to Liam. “Ready, mate?”

With a nod of confirmation and a friendly farewell to Harry, Liam leads the way from the diner and into the night. It’s cool outside, feeling every bit like September. The air feels nice against Louis’ flushed cheeks.

Liam let them get all the way around the corner before he pounced excitedly. “Alright, man, spill! What’s the story?”

“What story?”

The shove Liam gave him was probably intended to be gentle, but Louis was slender and Liam was massive and it wound up making him stumble a bit. “Sorry, sorry,” Liam apologizes, reaching out a hand to steady him. “But don’t be coy. The story with _Harry._ It’s not like you to go around flirting with guys you’re not even positive are legal.”

“I was not flirting!” Louis protested. “It’s called being friendly. I _do_ have a setting between arsehole and Casanova, you know.”

Liam raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Not flirting, then. But seriously, how did you two start talking?”

“Well it wasn’t like it was some big thing, Liam,” sighed Louis. “I just saw him at the diner looking sad and took pity on him, so I bought him a cookie. And then he talked to me. And that’s that.”

“You bought him a cookie?”

“That’s what I just said, yes.”

“And how did that turn into exchanging numbers and trying to take him out for drinks, then? I mean, since you were definitely _not_ flirting and all.”

 _“You_ have my phone number. _We’re_ going out for drinks. And how many times have I sucked _your_ cock, eh?”

“Well, none, but-”

“Exactly. I was being nice, Liam, not trying to get in his pants. For fuck’s sake.”

Liam lets it drop after that, because he’s a good friend underneath all of the teasing. He’s also a good friend in the way he conveniently doesn’t mention that Louis tends to get weak in the knees for green eyes, or that Louis once confessed under the influence of alcohol that long hair was the best because it gave you something to grab hold of. Liam remembered these things and kept his mouth shut. Louis remembered these things and silently thanked his best mate.

Louis understands everyone. But Liam, at least, understands _him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This baby grew up fast and turned into a 110K fic so I won't dawdle. Updates will be every other day! If you want to get in touch with me, questions/comments/concerns/funny anecdotes can be directed to either the comments below or my tumblr, canonlarry :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

When Louis’ phone went off the next morning, it took him several rings to remember that it was, in fact, humanly possible to be awake before noon on a Saturday. It took him another few to find and unearth his phone from the tangle of sheets and blankets on his bed, where he’d fallen in absolute oblivion as soon as he and Liam had gotten in. He finally got around to picking up on the last ring.

“’Ello?”

“L-Louis?”

“Um. Yeah. Who’s this?” Louis croaked, hoping sincerely that the man on the phone wasn’t someone he’d met last night. It was a general rule that he did _not_ give his number out to strange men at bars, no matter how good it felt when they danced on him.

“It’s Harry. Um. From the diner? Harry Styles.”

If Louis had the strength or willpower to sit bolt upright, he would have. “Harry! Yeah! Hey man, didn’t recognize your voice,” he replied from the pillows. “You sound…” _Mature, without that baby face of yours around to make you look fifteen. Like a man. A deep-voiced, smooth-toned man._

Of course Harry was oblivious to this train of thought. “Oh. I thought maybe you’d forgotten me. Or something.”

“No way,” Louis immediately replied. “Definitely not. You’re Harry Styles, business major at King’s College, flatmate of Zayn Malik and significant other –on the hush- of a lad named Thomas. You like cold fries and The 1947.”

“You mean The 1975? I thought you said you liked them!”

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit-_ “Um, I’m… really hung over.” Which was in no way a lie. Louis’ body felt like lead, except for where his head felt like a punching bag, and Liam was only just stirring on the other bed as Louis’ voice gradually woke him. They both looked worse for the wear.

Harry’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sorry, are you- are you okay? Sorry. I can call back if you don’t want to talk to me.”

And if it hadn’t been for that last part, Louis might have taken him up on the offer of a few more hours of sleep before he had to be charming and sociable. But he knew- in the way that Louis _always_ knew- that to Harry, Louis choosing sleep was the same as not-choosing Harry. And he also knew that Harry was too used to being not-chosen.

“No, don’t worry about it mate, I’m fine. Not my first hangover. Nor, I suspect, my last.”

“Oh.” Harry sounded pleased that Louis didn’t brush him off, which made the pounding in Louis’ head a little more worth it. “Do you do this often?”

“Often is a relative term.”

“Often by your definition?”

“By mine? Not at all. By Liam’s I’m far beyond help, though.”

“Oh,” Harry replied again, a smile still apparent in his voice.

Louis buried his face beneath the mound of pillows- less sunlight down here, far preferable- and tried to think of something interesting to say. “You got a new phone pretty quick.”

It took Harry a few seconds to respond, and his voice sounded pinched when he finally managed a quiet, “Yeah.”

Louis noticed. He wondered. He filed under ‘mysteries to be solved’ and didn’t say another word- for now.

“Well you can feel free to text me anytime,” he offered as cheerfully as he could with his head pounding away. He could hear Liam get up and stumble to the bathroom before the retching noises began. “I’m almost always within three feet of my phone and desperate for a distraction.”

“Don’t you work? Or go to classes?” Harry giggled.

The sound make Louis smile. “Well, yeah. But classes are boring and working at a library is a joke. So. Lots of phone time.”

“A library? I’ve always wanted to work at a library! I read a ton. It’s my favorite thing to do when I have free time.”

It was absolutely Louis’ intention to tease him about that, but before he got the opportunity to, the warm, dark cave of pillows was ripped apart and Louis was left staring up at a red-eyed, scowl-faced Liam. “I hate you and I’m never letting you take me anywhere again,” Liam declared, looking absolutely miserable.

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis said with a painful roll of the eyes. “Don’t be a bitch.”

Through the phone, Harry’s voice caught. “S-sorry,” he stuttered, already sounding near-tears. “I didn’t mean- I didn’t- I’m sorry.”

Now Louis _did_ sit up, propping himself up on one arm like an elevated head was going to improve blood flow and make him not be an idiot. “Shit, no, no, I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Liam. You’re fine, kid, I promise. It’s all Liam.”

Harry still sounded upset. “Oh. Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. But it’s- it’s alright if you do.”

“If I do what?”

“Think I’m a- a bitch. I am. One.”

“You aren’t, Harry, I promise,” Louis simply replied, because even though he _knew_ there was probably a spiel he should be doing right now, his head was agony and he couldn’t quite muster up the memory of what words were appropriate for a moment like this.

Liam was snatching his phone anyway. “You’re talking to Harry?” he said curiously, less angry than before. “Diner Harry?”

“Hey! Do you mind-”

“Not at all,” Liam said, then pressed the phone to his own ear. “Harry? Hello, it’s Liam. I’m good, thanks, how are you?”

“Stop it!” Louis hissed. “Liam, he’s _sensitive-”_

But Liam just stepped back when Louis lunged for him, letting the older boy crash to the floor between their beds in a heap of limbs and blankets. “What are you up to today, Harry? Oh? Would you like to come over, then, just hang out?” And Liam actually has the nerve to wink at Louis as he puts forth the invitation.

He doesn’t get the rise he wants, though, because Louis’ mind is already whirring away, remembering every facial expression Harry’s ever made and every word he’s ever said and trying desperately to triangulate the location of where Harry’s head must be at right now. _He’s skittish but eager. Apparent self-confidence issues. Wants to make friends but seems unsure how to. Now invited over to someone’s house 12 hours after they met. Is he freaked or charmed?_

Maybe it’s the alcohol still in his system, but Louis can’t make a decision. Instead, he just glares at Liam and holds out a hand for his phone as he prepares for damage control mode. The instant his fingers close around the device, it’s at his ear and he’s searching. “Harry?”

“Louis?”

“Sorry about Liam. He’s pissed that I got him drunk last night and he’s being a dick in revenge.”

“Oh. He wasn’t- he wasn’t mean or anything. He just invited me over.”

“Yeah.”

“Was that mean of him? Because he knew you didn’t want me there?”

_Commence backpedaling._ “No, no, not at all. It was mean because I don’t want him to make you feel pressured to come over.”

“Oh. What if- what if I did want to?”

“Do you?” It’s putting Harry on the spot, and it’s a little unfair, but at least it forces Harry to say, point-blank, what he wants. Louis has the feeling that Harry doesn’t speak up for his own desires very often, so he sits and waits for an honest reply.

“I- If you want me to. Yeah. I mean, I could. If. You wanted.”

It wasn’t exactly a resounding ‘I want to hang out with you,’ but it was more than enough to satisfy Louis. “Of course I want,” he assured Harry. “Yeah, come on over. I’ll text you my address.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Except- maybe in like an hour, when Liam and I have showered and maybe sobered up a bit?”

Harry’s laugh was loud enough that it hurt’s Louis’ ears even through the phone, but he didn’t particularly mind. His smile was no less massive as Harry agreed to come over in an hour and said his goodbyes. It wasn’t until Louis saw Liam’s smirk and came back to reality that his eyes narrowed and his mouth half-scowled. “What are you looking at?”

“The idiot sprawled across the floor fighting off a hangover and grinning because some guy he barely knows is going to come over. Which, by the way, you might want to pick up your area a bit if you’re trying to woo him.”

Louis ignored the last part and looked around him. His bed was the epicenter of some great disaster that resulted in widespread devastation and unmet hygiene standards. Right up until the imaginary line dividing his and Liam’s halves of the room, there was a carpet of discarded shirts, beer bottles, and long-forgotten textbooks. “Fair point,” Louis mumbled with a wince. “Guess I should try to tidy up a bit, eh?”

“Unless you want to give him some sort of a disease. Niall and I are immune to your filth, but that kid isn’t.”

“Shut up and go take the first shower while I clean,” Louis snapped. “And make it quick. I smell like stale alcohol.”

Liam mumbled something about ‘no different than usual,’ but exited to the bathroom, leaving Louis to take a deep breath, send a prayer up above, and dive into a neatening frenzy.

By the time there was a knock on the door, both boys were showered and changed and most of Louis’ socks were even kicked under the bed. Somehow, though, Louis doubted Harry would have minded if they’d let him come over straight away into all of the filth and morning-after misery. He was positively beaming before the door was even all of the way open.

“I brought coffee,” he blurted, smiling widely at Louis. “For um, your hangover. If you want.”

“Good morning to you, too,” replied Louis with a smile of his own.

“Oh. Right. Um, good morning.” Harry was sheepish now, but that didn’t stop him from offering Louis the cardboard carrier loaded with two coffees, sugar packets, stirrers, and the little creamer tubs. “For you. And Liam.”

“You didn’t have to get us anything, you know,” Louis said slowly, even as he took the warm gift in his hands. “We would have let you stay even if you came empty-handed.”

It was half a joke, but Harry still look pleased to hear it. “Oh. Well. I figured you could use some.”

“Is that coffee? Liam said as he emerged from the kitchen in sweatpants and a tank top

“Yeah,” Harry happily responded. “I didn’t know what, like, flavors you would like so I just got plain coffee. Is that okay?”

As usual, Liam was beautifully sweet. “Of course, mate, thanks. My head’s killing me. Not as much as Louis’ though, I bet. He hasn’t even thrown anything up.”

It wasn’t strictly true, because Louis had twisted too far to grab shampoo in the shower and lost a good deal of last night’s intake right then and there, but he wasn’t about to volunteer that information. “Are you sure you don’t want this one, Harry?” he deflected, offering the remaining coffee back to Harry.

When Harry replied, “Of course not, I bought it for _you,”_ his eyes were bright enough to be impossible. Louis still believed it.

“Oh,” Louis said, for lack of something better to say. “Well. Thanks again. Do you want to come in?”

Harry smiled ever-wider and nodded, stepping a few feet further into the dorm than before. It was all one room, just two beds, two little desks, a couch and TV, and a kitchenette. The bathroom, with their shared shower and sink, was behind a nondescript door. All of this must have been fascinating to Harry, the way he let his eyes linger on everything to take it all in.

“It’s not much, but it’s our little slice of heaven,” Louis said with a grand gesture to the room at large. “Liam has a desk for all of his stupid books and a shower to sing Justin Timberlake in, so that’s really all he needs in life. And of course I’ve got space enough for all of my bad habits and no one but this sad little man to tell me no!”

“You have bad habits?” Harry asked, frowning. “Like what?”

“Allow me,” Liam jumped in from his spot on the couch. “He drinks too much, barely passes his classes. Literally _defines_ ‘messy,’ comes and goes at all hours of the night. Spends all of his money on tattoos instead of groceries.”

“And would you rather have anyone else as your roommate, Liam James?” Louis asked smugly, already knowing the answer.

“I think the important thing to remember here is that no one else would have _you._ Not everyone’s alright with having their mind read and their every move analyzed,” huffed Liam.

Harry looked curiously at Louis. “So I was right. You _do_ read people.”

“Constantly,” the two roommates replied, then grinned.

“I can’t help it,” Louis continued with a shrug and a tiny smile. “I just understand people really well. Even when I try to shut it off, I’m just always thinking about what’s going on in other people’s heads. And most of the time- well, I’m nearly always right.”

“Let’s put it this way,” added Liam. “The only time Louis is oblivious to what others think and not actively in control of the situation is when he’s really, _really_ drunk. Other than that… he’s always two moves ahead of you.”

Half of Louis preened at the compliment, while half of him felt like blushing. Harry just peered wide-eyed down at him. “You sound brilliant.”

Now Louis is _definitely_ blushing. “Yeah. Well. Don’t be too impressed. Remember that Liam just told you that I’m barely passing anything.”

“Why?”

“‘Why?’” Louis echoed, laughing. “For the same reason everyone else fails a class, I imagine. Because they’re not smart enough at it.”

But Harry was shaking his head and having none of it. “No, that’s not it. You’re really smart, I can tell. So how come you aren’t doing well in your classes?”

They were still standing in the kitchen by the door with coat on and coffee in hand, and the conversation is starting to get just a tad too pointed in Louis’ direction. “Because school is for squares,” he deflected with a wink, abruptly turning away to leave Harry a little confused and a lot intrigued.

He still followed, though, when Louis led the way over to the sofa. “Come have a seat, Mr. Styles,” Louis invited with false formality before throwing himself down next to Liam with a flop. “What are your feelings on watching footie?”

“Football’s fine,” Harry quickly replied.

“Oh, good. Because if you and I didn’t agree on something and form a majority Liam’s would have made us watch the History Channel.”

“It’s educational,” Liam said sulkily. “Aren’t you here at uni to get an education?”

“Because watching a documentary on corn is _definitely_ going to help me in my future career.”

“Are you trying to say that there’s some sort of value in _football,_ then?” retorted Liam.

“Liam, for the last time, football is an important facet of English culture. Aren’t you supposed to care about that, Mr. Sociology?”

“Oh, come off it!”

While they bickered, Harry made his way over to them and sat quietly on the floor in front of the couch. That made the banter on Louis’ tongue falter. He looked at the spot next to him on the couch- he’d purposely sat very close to Liam so that there’d be plenty of room on his other side for the gangly boy. He thought that it must have been obvious that the seat was intended for Harry…

“Hey, you don’t have to sit on the floor, Haz, you can sit on the couch with us,” he said curiously.

Harry’s eyes were wide when he turned around. “Oh. Um. Are you sure? You don’t have to-”

“Yeah, mate, of course I’m sure. There’s plenty of room. Hop on up,” Louis kindly replied. He watched (when did he ever _not_ watch?) as Harry blinked a few times and then cautiously moved to the spot next to Louis. It did not go unnoticed that he was pressed up against the arm of the couch until he was taking up as little space as humanly possible. Louis didn’t call him on it.

He couldn’t keep from mentioning, though, that half an hour later Harry was looking at the screen with eyes completely glazed over. Louis gently nudged him with an elbow that didn’t startle so much as _surprise_ Harry. “You look riveted by this game,” Louis teased gently.

“Sorry,” Harry immediately apologized. “I- sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, Harry, you just should have told me that you didn’t like footie. No, don’t apologize for that either,” he interrupted before Harry could stutter out another word. “Just be honest. What do _you_ like to watch?”

“How interested are you in improving your knowledge on how guitars are made?” Liam asked with a grin, leaning forward to look around Louis at Harry.

“Liam James Payne, do not try to influence him. He’s our guest, you’re to let him choose for himself.”

“And what if I happen to be fascinated by guitars?” replied Harry, too innocent to be anything but mischievous.

Louis knew it was a joke, but he pounced on the potential for learning more about Harry anyways. “Are you? Interested in guitars?”

A moment passed as Harry pondered that. “I tried to learn how to play once, and I really liked that.”

“Did you?” Louis asked, delighted at the idea of shy little Harry writing songs and playing the guitar. “Why’d you stop?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “I just… did.”

“You should pick it up again! I mean, if you want to,” Louis said eagerly. “Uni’s all about exploration and experimentation, right?” Liam made a choking sound and pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress a laugh while Louis suppressed a sigh. _“No,_ Liam, that wasn’t a gay joke.”

“You set yourself up for that one, a bit.”

Louis didn’t answer that, keeping his gaze on Harry. “Honestly, though, you could definitely start again! I know a guy, Niall, who’s an absolute whiz at guitar. I bet he’d trip over himself to help you out.”

“Wait- really?” Harry asked, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smile.

“Of course really. If it’s something you’re interested in, go for it. And Niall would definitely be game.”

“Actually,” Liam jumped in, “he’s on his way, if that’s alright? His roommate’s pissed at him because he came in so late last night and he’s looking for a place to hide out.”

“It’s fine with me if it’s fine with Harry,” Louis replied with a shrug, watching Harry’s face carefully for any signs of discomfort. “He’s the guest, so.”

For his part, Harry seemed flattered that anyone was asking for his opinion. “I don’t mind,” he said mildly. “If he’s friends with you he’s probably really nice.”

Neither Louis nor Liam mentioned that Louis’ circle of friends, with the exception of Liam and Niall, was almost exclusively made up of frat boys and stoners. They let the comment rest and turned their attention back to the telly- which Louis managed to convince Liam to put on Tosh.0 reruns instead of “some fucking documentary that only you care about Liam, Jesus.”

Before long Niall showed up, looking jolly as ever with his hat on backwards and his mouth full of Doritos, and let himself into the dorm. “Hey lads,” he called as he entered, then stopped short when he noticed three boys on the couch instead of the two he was expecting. “Oh. Hey mate, what’s up. I’m Niall.”

“Hi, I’m Harry, nice to meet you,” Harry drawled with a blush, dragging out every word in that slow way of his.

“Yeah, you too. You took my spot, though,” teased Niall.

Louis knew what was going to happen as soon as the words were out of Niall’s mouth, and had extended an arm to stop Harry from rising before he was so much as an inch off of the cushion. “Don’t listen to him, Haz, he’s just being a twat.” The roll of his eyes offset the harshness of his words, and Niall laughed loudly with a wink of his own.

“It’s fine,” he declared, tossing his Doritos on the coffee table. “I’ll just take my spot right out of the middle!” Without warning, he sat himself down in Louis’ lap, turned, and lay across all three laps with his head on Harry’s thigh and his legs draped across Liam. “Mm, comfy,” he teased, closing his eyes and wiggling to get comfortable.

It was instinct, really, for Louis to laugh and give Niall a shove so that he fell to the floor between the couch and the coffee table with a thud and an expletive. “Or you could take your spot on the floor, wanker,” he suggested, making Liam snort.

Harry looked miserable and anxious, obviously still fighting the urge to give up his seat to Niall. His eyes were so close to tears that Louis immediately jumped up, climbed over Niall and the table, and turned around to face the three others. “Everyone, I have an announcement,” he said grandly.

The words were met with confusion, irritation, and anxious interest from his roommate, victim, and newfound friend. “What’s up?” Liam said with eyebrows raised. “Finally decided to admit you act like a twelve year-old? Way ahead of you, mate.”

“Shut up,” Louis retorted, even as he scrambled to think of something. He hadn’t really gotten to the part of the plan where he needed a fake announcement. He’d really just been interested in getting everyone’s attention firmly on him so that it would definitely not fall on Harry.

“Well come on then, out with it,” Niall said brightly from the floor, apparently over his irritation as he continued munching on his snack.

“I- well, I’ve um. I’ve decided I’m only going to drink on the weekends,” blurted Louis, mostly because the first non-Harry thing his eyes found to focus on was the rubbish bin full of beer bottles. “So I can study more. And stuff.”

Liam gave a tiny round of only lightly sarcastic applause while Niall made a face and mumbled something about ‘what’s the point of uni, then.’ Harry looked less pained and actually smiled at Louis with only a trace of nervousness remaining. “That’s really good, Louis. Now everyone will be able to see how smart you are.”

If Niall or Liam had said it, Louis might have thought it was a jab at his piss-poor grades. But from Harry, it was so genuine and pleased that Louis thought he just might adopt the plan, after all. “Well, you know, can’t have people forgetting how brilliant I am,” he joked lamely when he couldn’t find the words to accept the compliment.

Harry kept right on biting his lip, but gave a closed-mouth laugh with eyes almost as bright as usual. The tension was gradually draining from his body, and Louis noted that with relief. “Oh, and also, I wanted to get everyone’s opinion on a new tattoo,” he continued to babble. That ought to stall them- Louis’ propensity for tattoos and piercings was a hot topic in this household.

“Another one?” Liam asked, mouth open in surprise. “Haven’t you run out of space on your arms yet?”

“I’ve only got sixty, Liam, it isn’t that many,” replied Louis, pausing to be a little bit offended. “Besides, this one wouldn’t be on my arm. It’d be on my ribcage.”

“Of what?”

Again, Louis had to think quickly. “Um. Maybe a lyric? Haven’t decided yet, but I don’t really have too many word tattoos. So that might be cool to have on my ribs.”

Liam seemed unconvinced. “Are you sure you want something that big, though? That’s a huge commitment.”

“Hey at least he isn’t trying to get his nipples pierced again,” Niall cheerfully supplied, which earned a solemn nod from Liam. “Took us a month to talk him down from that one.”

“Hey! I happen to think that was a good idea. Still is,” Louis pouted. “Are you going to voice an opinion on the rib piece or not?”

As usual though, Niall was unfailingly pleased with everything that came out of Louis’ mouth. “That sounds wicked! Is it going to be one of your lyrics, or from a song?”

Harry’s eyes went wide as he looked up at Louis. “You write songs?”

“Oh. Um, a little.”

“Don’t be bashful, Louis,” Niall grinned. “You’re always at the piano writing new songs in the rehearsal rooms on campus. He’s brilliant at it, too, by the way,” he added with a nudge to Harry.

The boy just seemed charmed to death, all traces of anxiety gone from his face. Louis watched the lines of his shoulder and jaw get softer as both of them relaxed and smiled. “Maybe I’ll have to show you sometime,” he mumbled, half just to fill the silence. That didn’t make him mean it any less.

…………………

Harry was lying on the couch with his headphones in, phone held above his face and blasting the latest song by his latest underground indie discovery, when Zayn returned in his usual, quiet way. Five minutes passed before Harry caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye and started so hard the phone dropped and smacked him in the face. “Zayn, hey,” he said smoothly as he ripped the headphones out, hoping his roommate hadn’t seen that.

The smirk on Zayn’s face said that he probably had, but he was chill enough not to mention it. “Hey man. What are you up to?”

“Nothing much.” Harry stood and stretched, reaching his fingertips to the ceiling and listening to the pop of each of his vertebrae. “You?”

“I’m starving. You want something? I’m about to heat up a Hot Pocket.”

That earned a frown from Harry. “Those things are so bad for you, Zayn. They’re full of preservatives and saturated fats.”

“Well I don’t feel like cooking, so.”

“You’re just trying to get me to make something for you, aren’t you?” Harry pouted as he made his way into the kitchen.

“That depends, is it working?”

“Put the heart attacks back in the box,” sighed Harry. “I’ve got the stuff for grilled chicken. Oh, could you hand me my phone, though? It’s in the living room, I can hear it going off.”

“Who’s blowing up your phone?” asked Zayn curiously as he obliged. “Is it that dude Louis again?”

Harry rolled his eyes and snatched the phone, noting with a smile that it was, in fact, Louis. “I’m allowed to have friends that aren’t you, Zayn.”

“Yeah, but you should try for friends who aren’t asswipes.”

“He’s not a- he’s not like that!”

Zayn twirled an unlit cigarette between his fingers, obviously debating whether or not finishing this argument with Harry was more important than going downstairs for a smoke. “The dude hit on you in a diner,” he decided to stay and point out. “That’s pretty much textbook asswipe behavior.”

“He wasn’t hitting on me,” Harry sighed, and if he had an air of someone who’d repeated a phrase a hundred times, it was probably only because he’d told this to Zayn about a hundred times. “He was being friendly. He bought me a cookie because he thought I looked sad.”

“Which brings me to the fact that he was watching you from across the room. Does that seriously not raise any red flags for you?”

“At least he noticed,” Harry mumbled.

“As opposed to who? Thomas? Because your bar for acceptable behavior is spectacularly low, H.”

“Stop it,” huffed Harry, now genuinely distressed. “That’s not fair. You know that Thomas is busy, he can’t always, like, pay attention to me or whatever. That isn’t his job. And don’t be mean to Louis, either. He’s nice,” he finished, close to tears.

Zayn tucked his cigarette behind his ear and came over to run his hands briskly up and down Harry’s upper arms. Harry always got happier when he got those kinds of casual touches. “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to be a dick about it. I just want you to have good people in your life, yeah?”

“Thomas cares about me, I know he does.”

“I- I believe that you believe that. And you know him better than I do, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. And I’m sure Louis’ alright, too.”

“You had a class with him last year, right? What did you think of him then?”

“He was pretty chill, I guess. The ink on his neck had some sick linework.” Zayn didn’t mention that he’d mostly known Louis by his reputation of one night stands with guys of varying degrees of outness. He was five and a half feet of punk temptress.

Harry started beaming like Zayn had complimented _him_ rather than the tattoos of some guy he barely knew. “See? No creeper vibes, sick ink. What’s not to like?”

No response.

“Besides,” continued Harry, quieter, “why would he flirt with me?”

“To get in your pants?” snorted Zayn.

“I meant why would he flirt with _me?”_

Now he had Zayn’s full attention. “H. Come on. You’re a catch.”

“You don’t have to say that stuff, Zayn, you’re not my mum.”

“Of course not. Would you mum tell you that your cute little butt might as well be, like, a magnet for tops?” Harry giggled just a very little bit, so Zayn pressed on. “Seriously. I’ve got every right to be, like, concerned for you. I’ve got pretty sisters, so I know how this goes.”

“I don’t even know if he’s gay.”

“Oh trust me, he’s gay.”

“How do you know that?”

Zayn thought about all of the things he’d heard about Louis Tomlinson, notorious flirt and seducer of the closeted, and kept his mouth firmly shut. It’s not that Harry was _delicate,_ exactly, it’s just… well, he was. And that wasn’t what Harry needed to hear. “I just know.”

“Well still,” Harry replied patiently, “even if he’s gay, he’s not messing with me. He’s just being nice.”

“Hmph. I’ll wait to decide on that ‘til I meet him properly.”

“I thought you weren’t my mum?”

“Just shut up and have him over,” replied Zayn with a roll of his eyes.

“Wait- you actually want to meet him?” Harry asked, surprised. “Like, now?”

“Or whenever. But yeah.” The grumpiness said what Zayn didn’t- _but only because I don’t trust him._

Harry only grinned in response. “Okay. I’ll um, text him.”

“Cool.” Zayn retrieved the cig from behind his ear and waved it in front of him as he backed towards the door. “Smoke. Back soon.”

“Yeah, alright.” The door wasn’t even shut behind Zayn before Harry had his phone out and typing a new text to Louis.

**_(Harry, 11:27 AM)_ ** _Hiiiiii._

**_(Louis, 11:29 AM)_ ** _Hey haz :)_

**_(Harry, 11:30 AM)_ ** _What are you up to?_

**_(Louis, 11:33 AM)_ ** _Waiting around for Li to get out of his 11:00 class. I can’t steal his money to buy food if he isn’t here !_

**_(Harry, 11:34 AM)_** _What about free lunch at my place?  
_ ** _(Harry, 11:34 AM)_** _I was just about to make grilled chicken for Zayn and I.  
_ ** _(Harry, 11:37 AM)_** _I only ask to save poor Liam from being robbed._  

**_(Louis, 11:38 AM)_ ** _To be fair the food money is payment for his privileges to having the best roommate ever.  
_ **_(Louis, 11:39 AM)_ ** _But I mean, if you want :) That sounds great !_

**_(Harry, 11:40 AM)_ ** _Definitely!  
_ **_(Harry, 11:40 AM)_ ** _If you want to. I know we JUST hung out, like 2 days ago…_

**_(Louis, 11:41 AM)_ ** _Not sure there’s a refractory period on hanging out, haha. Plus there’s free food so that trumps it all. What’s your address?_

When Zayn returned, smelling of nicotine and autumn, Harry was busy making rice and steamed vegetables while the chicken grilled away. Zayn only spared a second’s glance at the spread before continuing on to the living room. “So I take it he’s gonna make it for lunch?” he called from the couch.

“How did you know that?”

“You’re doing that thing that you do when you’re nervous.”

There’s a pause, and then Harry’s head popped around the wall from the kitchen to stare at Zayn. “What thing?” he asked, sounding offended. “I don’t have a thing.”

“You cook way too much food when you’re nervous.”

“Well I just want to make sure that we have enough-”

“How many servings of rice did you make?”

“...Eight.”

“For three people.”

“Well…” Apparently Harry didn’t have anything to defend himself with, because he only disappeared back into the kitchen with a huff and a pout. Funny how his cooking habits were only a problem when it was someone _else_ being served, instead of just Zayn.

Louis arrived just as lunch was done. It was like deja vu, with the door swinging open to reveal a Harry with his face almost split from a grin. “Hi Louis,” he said excitedly. “You’re just in time.”

“Great, I’m starving. Liam wouldn’t have been home for a half hour still, and I was about to start selling his shoes on the street corner until I had enough money for takeaway,” Louis said with a wink as Harry stepped aside to let him in.

The first thing he noticed was Zayn leaning against the wall just inside the door with arms crossed. “Stealing from your roommate. Class.”

The comment was met with a squirming silence from the other two boys in the room. “Zayn. Malik, right? Good to see you, mate,” Louis said nervously as he stretched out a hand.

“I’m not your mate, mate,” Zayn said coolly, then turned his gaze to Harry who seemed to thaw him instantly. “Lunch almost ready? Smells fantastic.”

“That depends, are you going to be civil?”

He seems to consider this. “For food? Probably not. For you? I’ll try my best.”

When Zayn goes into the bathroom to wash up, Harry leans in close to Louis and whispers, “He’s not usually like this, I swear.”

“It’s fine,” returns Louis in the same tone. “He seems… shrewd. A good judge of character, I’d guess.” He doesn’t mention that shrewd people are his least favorite because they tend to be able to read Louis almost as well as he can read them.

Louis is still the best he knows (not that he’s bragging or anything) and that’s how he gets surer and surer as lunch goes by that Zayn is as far from an asshole as Harry is from a serial killer. It’s plain to see, really, when you notice the way he seems to base everything he does around Harry.

Most people, when Louis cracks them open to read the instruction manual on how to please them, are full of things that make them happy. But Zayn’s instructions at the moment all read the same: Harry. Whatever makes Harry happy makes Zayn happy, too- except in the places where Zayn was sure that he knew best. Like in the way he gave Louis the third degree from across the table no matter how much it made Harry fret.

_“Zayn,”_ protested Harry twenty minutes in. “Could you stop with the questions?”

“I don’t mind, honest,” Louis replied around a mouthful of rice. “I like questions. I’m a psychologist. All we _do_ is ask questions of people.”

“See, Haz? Just a little friendly banter.”

Personally, if it were up to Louis, he wouldn’t call it friendly _or_ banter. But that was really just in the semantics. “Nothing wrong with curiosity, eh?”

And so the assault continued, much to Harry’s humiliated dismay. There were questions about everything- where he lived, where he worked, what he was into. It would have felt a bit like they were on a date, if it weren’t for Zayn’s snarky commentary and Harry looking horrified between them.

“I hear you drink a lot. That true?” Zayn asks when it all seems to be winding down.

“Everyone’s always so fascinated with my drinking habits,” huffed Louis. “Yeah, I maybe drink a little too much- but I’m cutting back to just weekends, right Harry?” Harry beams, and Louis shrugs. “I guess everyone’s got their unhealthy habits.”

“Zayn smokes,” supplies Harry, like he’s eager to even the playing field.

“I do too, sometimes. If I’m stressed or something. Not a ton, though.”

They wait for Zayn to comment on that, but he doesn’t. Apparently he’s exhausted his list of questions, because he’s standing and putting his plate in the sink. “Lunch was great, babes,” he tells Harry, kissing his forehead. “And speaking of a smoke, I’m heading down to have one. Be back in a bit, yeah?”

As soon as the door is shut behind the brooding boy, Harry is making apologies. “I’m sorry he’s acting so rude, he’s just- I dunno, he’s just not himself.” He sighs, deflated. “And don’t be offended that he didn’t invite you for a smoke even though you _just_ talked about it, okay? He just has, like, a thing. About smoking.”

“A ‘thing?’”

“Yeah, it’s like- his ‘me time.’ He hates to have people around when he smokes. Even if it’s just like other people smoking in the general vicinity that he’s smoking. Can’t stand it. So. It’s not you, I swear.”

“Harry, don’t worry about it,” Louis said with a laugh. “Seriously, I’m not offended. Lunch was… interesting. Not _bad_ interesting, just interesting. I haven’t gotten an interview like that since I met the father of my last proper boyfriend. And Zayn didn’t even have a shotgun, so.”

There's a second in which Louis thinks he's crossed some invisible boundary with Harry, because there isn't any kind of response. He looks carefully and sees the gears in Harry's mind turning as he tries to decide whether or not to say whatever's on his mind. Apparently, he eventually settles for yes.

"So you _are…"_ he says carefully, then stops.

"I am what?"

"Gay."

Louis grinned from ear to ear. "Oh. That. Yeah. Did you not know that before? Don’t let the manly tattoos and facial piercings fool you, lad, I’m as gay as they come."

"Oh, okay." Harry smiles right back at him, seeming relieved. Louis wonders how long that question has been pestering him; given his flirty personality, his sexuality had probably been in question for Harry for the entirety of the three days they'd known one another.

"I thought I mentioned that before, though," Louis mused. "Or- Liam did, definitely. He told you when I get drunk I start dancing on random dudes."

Now Harry was starting to look a little uncomfortable. "Well. But. I didn’t know if you really meant it."

"Meant… what? Meant to get physical with guys?"

"Yeah. I mean, just because you did that doesn’t mean you’re… you know. _Gay."_

Louis searched Harry’s face carefully, trying to figure out what’s really bothering him. There's something about this line of questioning that has him squirming like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I suppose that’s true," he conceded. "Sexuality doesn’t have clearly-defined rules. But in my non-professional opinion, if you’re a lad and you like to do things to cocks and/or have other lads do things to _your_ cock, that pretty much qualifies as not-straight."

"Yeah…" Now Harry _definitely_ looks uncomfortable, his eyes darting around like they're searching for an escape route or some form of salvation.

The panic in his face has Louis backing off immediately. "I’m sorry. My mouth’s got away with me. Liam would blush if he heard me talking like that."

"No, it’s okay," Harry said quickly. "You’re honest, I like that. And you see everything so clearly. It’s… refreshing, to be around someone who instantly understands everything."

Louis looks at him, at the way he's still fidgeting like he's sat before a firing squad, and can't help but think to himself, _not everything._ There are still some green-eyed, curly-haired mysteries he hasn’t solved yet. But. He’s working on it.

The smell of cigarette smoke wafts in from the entryway as the front door opens and Zayn reappears. "Hey. Forgot it was Tuesday, I need to run. Got my night class in like twenty minutes," he tells Harry on his way past them into the living space and through the door to their bedroom.

"Could you, um, excuse me for a sec?" Harry mumbles before scurrying off.

"Sure, no problem," Louis informs the empty kitchen.

They're probably trying to be quiet as they talk, but Louis can hear every word. And Louis should _probably_ try a little harder not to listen, but it's really not his fault that information gathering is one of his favorite pastimes. He quiets his own breathing so their conversation sounds even clearer all the way in the kitchen.

"Why are you acting like this today, Zayn?" Harry said exasperatedly. "You're being a total- an absolute- a jerkface!"

"The word you're looking for is arsehole," Zayn supplied. "I'm being an arsehole."

"Okay, so you're being an- that. Why?"

"Maybe I'm just an arsehole by nature, Haz, didja think about that?"

_"Zayn."_

"Harry."

The younger gave an exasperated sigh. "Okay, fine, don't tell me. But will you go, like, say sorry? Or something? Because I really like him and I think he's going to be a really good friend and I'd like it if maybe he didn't absolutely hate my flatmate."

"Well I'm not sorry for that so I'm not going to apologize," Zayn replied after a pause. "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm sorry for every single ulcer I give you. Seriously though, babe, I've got to go. I'll see you when I get home!"

When he comes around the corner, Zayn finds Louis innocently washing dishes (wouldn't Liam be proud) and not at all eavesdropping. "Later, dude," he mumbles to Louis on his way out. Louis thinks it might be progress.

But Harry only looks even more dissatisfied than before upon returning to Louis. "You don't have to do that, I've got it," he tells Louis distractedly, brushing his hands away from the last few dishes in the sink and taking over the washing despite Louis' mumbled protests.

"Hey." Louis' gentle voice grabs Harry's wandering attention enough to get him to glance up. "I told you he was fine, yeah? Honestly, don't worry about it. I'm not offended. And I don’t absolutely hate your flatmate."

Harry recognizes his own words and blushes. "You, um, you heard that?"

"Your voice is about four octaves too low for a proper whisper, just so you know."

"That's so embarrassing," Harry moans. "Zayn was embarrassing. This lunch was embarrassing. I'm just so- I don't know-"

"Embarrassed?"

"Yeah." Harry blushed. "Sorry."

Louis bites his lip in hesitation. "You know, normally it's against my moral code to do this, but... for you I might make an exception. I can tell you why Zayn acted that way. If you want."

"What? But how do you know?"

"I just do," Louis said with a shrug. "I just watch people, and I get to know them, and I understand them. It's not actually that hard, because you just watch what they do and how they interact with the environment and other people, and it tells you a lot about what goes on in their head. And once you know how things _usually_ are in their head, you can make really good guesses about what will go on the rest of the time. Does that make sense?"

"Not really," confessed Harry, looking a bit in awe. "But if you wanted to tell me what's wrong with Zayn, that might really be helpful."

"This is kind of cheating," Louis grinned, "because technically speaking you're supposed to talk things out with him and actually do the work to fix the damage. But I like you and I'm trying to impress you with my talents, so."

"I'm already quite impressed," responded Harry solemnly, the sparkle in his eyes the only hint of mischief.

"Basically, Zayn's looking out for you. He was asking all of those questions half so that he could hear the answer and half so that _you_ could. He wants you to understand what you're getting into with me, because he thinks that you're fragile and maybe a little bit too trusting. He was also half hoping that he'd scare me off and this would all be over with. He didn't actually intend to offend or insult me- which, by the way, is why I wasn't offended or insulted. He just wanted to unearth the real me, for both of you to see, and then make sure I wasn't going to just ditch when things weren't convenient anymore. So yeah, basically he was just trying to make sure I'm worthy of being your friend."

"Oh."

"'Oh?'" Louis repeated nervously. "I just demonstrated a slightly freakish talent of mine, Harry, I'm going to need a little more validation than just 'oh.'"

"No, I meant- I meant _wow._ You just- you just knew all of that? Just from watching him?" Harry's definitely got stars in his eyes now.

Louis can't help but glow under Harry's approval. "Well, by watching him and thinking about him and watching some more to double check."

"That's really phenomenal," Harry informed him. "You're like, a proper genius."

The idea makes Louis laugh. "I'm just really nosy and I get people. You won't think it's so cute when it's _you_ under my microscope." He carefully leaves out that he has Harry locked in focus with the highest resolution already.

"I wouldn't mind you doing that to me," Harry said defiantly. "Watching me. Or analyzing me, or understanding me or whatever you want to call it."

Somehow, Louis doesn't doubt that. "Oh? You'd let me satisfy my curiosity, for no other reason than I could? Even if it meant letting me get a close look at what's inside your head, or the space you live in?"

"Sure. I don't mind a bit. I don't have anything to hide, anyways."

"So it wouldn't bother you at all if I just wandered around and started snooping to get inside your head?"

Harry smirked. "Well I wouldn't touch Zayn's stuff unless you feel extra brave, but all of my stuff you're welcome to snoop in."

Louis kept expecting him to withdraw his permission as he began wandering the little flat, but every time he looked over his shoulder to double check, Harry was still perched there on the counter with his face displayed innocently on the platter of his hands, watching calmly as Louis made his sincerest observations.

The first thing he noticed were the photographs. The only ones of Harry's were of two women, one older and one around his age. Mum and sister, maybe? None of a boyfriend, or of friends, or favorite memories.

The bathroom had all of the essentials, but nothing too extravagant or expensive. Just normal college lads bathroom stuff. He does note that the side of the sink with Harry's things -the kid labeled his toothbrush, for god's sake- is all nicely arranged in neat little rows that match the inside of the cupboards in the kitchen- which he gathers is entirely Harry's domain.

So it's odd, then, when the drawers don't match. There are some piles of clothes that are neatly folded and grouped by type, but then there are some which are smooshed in the back of each drawer, absolutely screaming 'out of sight, out of mind.'

Louis just bites his tongue and files that one away for another day. This was a free pass to snoop, not a therapy session.

He noticed just about everything, actually. The way that all of Harry’s textbooks are lined up at 90 degree angles, and discarded papers are folded up, rather than crumpled, before being tossed in the rubbish in. How Zayn’s half of the closet smells floral, like detergent, but Harry’s has a plain, soapy smell. The way Harry grows more restless the closer Louis gets to his extensive CD collection, bouncing with excitement until Louis asks and Harry positively gushes all about it.

To anyone not paying attention, they are CDs and laundry habits and stacks of books. But to a careful eye (and Louis’ are the most careful he knows) these things are Harry.

Louis doesn’t say it out loud, but he rather likes what he sees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been been giving positive feedback (or negative feedback for that matter, I appreciate that too). I'm so glad that y'all are enjoying it! As always you can get in touch with me either in the comments below or on tumblr, canonlarry :)
> 
> Oh, and updates will most likely be in the evening! Just so you know :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wey hey smut incoming #fairwarning

By the time Saturday rolls around, and the concert, Harry and Louis text almost constantly. Harry’s one of those really good texters, always replying within minutes and giving advance warning if he has to stop replying in the middle of a conversation to do something else for a while. Louis loves that because he’s the same way; sometimes he forgets that not everyone lives off of their phone and gets confused when he has to wait hours for a text back.

Together, though, they make a good pair. It makes sense when Louis looks at the way Harry is about his phone when they’re together- it buzzes and he snatches it right up to reply. Maybe that would bother someone else, but not Louis. He just smiles and nods when Harry explains that it’s Thomas texting him to come over later or asking him where he is. They’re the important things, if Harry’s face is anything to go off of.

But apparently it isn’t just Thomas, because he’s equally attentive to Louis. They text even more than usual in the hours leading up to the concert, because Harry’s so excited he can hardly breathe and Louis can’t help but be charmed by it.

**_(Harry, 4:41 PM)_ ** _What should I wear?_

**_(Louis, 4:42 PM)_ ** _Dunno, what does one wear to an indie rock concert?_

**_(Harry, 4:43 PM)_ ** _I was hoping you’d know :( I don’t want to look like an idiot…_

**_(Louis, 4:44 PM)_ ** _H, I reaaaally don’t think it matters that much what you wear. People are there to see the band, not you, right? :)_

**_(Harry, 4:45 PM)_ ** _Well. Yeah. But._

**_(Louis, 4:46 PM)_ ** _Just don’t wear anything too mainstream and you’ll be alright, yeah?  
_ **_(Louis, 4:46 PM)_ ** _And by that, I mean wear whatever you want to wear. Your favorite outfit. You’re going to go see a band that you like, so it makes sense to wear clothes that you like!_

**_(Harry, 4:47 PM)_ ** _That makes sense :)_

**_(Louis, 4:48 PM)_ ** _Of course it does, I said it ;)_

They agree that Louis will pick Harry up at his flat at 6, so they can make sure to be at the venue early enough to get a spot near the front. The closer it gets to 6, the more exclamation points Harry tacks on to the end of every sentence until finally it’s time and Louis is parking the car and bounding up the stairs.

The smile Harry was wearing when he opened the door could have dazzled a satellite right out of the sky. “Hey, Louis,” he said breathlessly.

But Louis was too busy looking at the other things Harry was wearing. Gone were the baggy, faded jeans and worn out tee shirts that he usually had on. Instead, he wore a black blazer over a sheer button-down shirt that was only half buttoned. A black and grey scarf- the thin kind meant more for fashion than warmth- hung loosely around his neck.

And then there was the matter of his _jeans._ They were black, dark enough still that they had to be brand new, and they were tight enough that Louis had to make sure it wasn’t body paint that Harry was wearing. It was easy now to see that he had long, thin legs with shapely thighs and toned calves that you never would have noticed when they were swimming in acid-wash denim three sizes too big.

“Just let me grab my keys really quick, sorry,” Harry said, turning to lean across the kitchen table to grab them and his phone.

“Absolutely,” Louis managed to reply when Harry had already been facing him again for a good fifteen seconds, and it was _not_ because he’d been distracted thinking about Harry’s butt in those microscopic jeans. _That_ would be inappropriate, because Harry had a boyfriend. So Louis wasn’t. At all. No way.

Harry looked at him in confusion. “Absolutely what?”

“What?”

“You said ‘absolutely.’”

“Oh. I meant that it absolutely wasn’t a problem.”

“What wasn’t a problem?”

“Nothing. I mean, it’s not that _nothing_ wasn’t a problem, it’s that nothing was. One. A problem,” Louis replied, more flustered than he really ought to be.

“...What?”

“No lollygagging, Harold, you’ll make us late.” And with that, Louis turned on his heel and led an amused Harry back to the car. His blush was most of the way gone by the time he pretended to check his eyeliner in the rearview mirror.

(It takes him all the way to the venue to convince himself that you absolutely could not blame a guy for looking.)

When they’re circling the car park hunting for a space, Louis clears his throat. “You know you don’t look like an idiot, right? You were afraid of that. But you don’t. You look really good, actually,” he says, and it comes out sounding normal and not creepy at all and Louis is very proud of himself for that.

It’s Harry’s turn to blush now. “Oh. Thanks. I just did what you said and picked out, like, my favorite stuff.”

“It’s really different from the stuff you normally wear,” Louis ventures, very carefully.

“Yeah, it’s kind of- it’s like, old. I haven’t worn it in a while, I guess. All of my old stuff’s just like in the back of a drawer somewhere, so.”

Louis mind travels back to earlier in the week when he got to nose around in Harry’s room, to the neatly stacked piles of baggy jeans and tees and the lumps of fabric shoved into the space behind them. Were these the kind of clothes Harry was hiding away? Runway-ready styles that he called his ‘favorites?’

“How come you don’t wear it anymore?” was all he asked.

Harry shrugged a little, not seeming to notice how seriously Louis took this conversation as he stared out the window to help search for a space. “Thomas buys me a lot of clothes, I guess. So. I wear those most of the time.”

“But they’re not what you call your favorites.”

“Well, not exactly,” Harry admits. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Louis said gently. “You’re only telling the truth. But I don’t understand why you wouldn’t wear your old clothes if they make you happy. I mean, you’re glowing. And you look fantastic.”

“Thanks. I do like to look nice. But.” Harry hesitates, then blurts it out all at once. “Ijustwishitwasn’tsogaytolookputtogether.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I just wish it wasn’t so gay to look put together,” Harry repeats with a sigh. “Like, I’m a neat person, and I like to look nice. But trying so hard makes me look really… you know, _gay.”_

It takes a second for Louis to collect himself enough for words. “But you do consider yourself gay, though, right?”

“I- yeah.”

“But you don’t want to look gay.” He doesn’t even say it like a question, because at this point it isn’t. That’s the second time he’s been worried about looking too much like a stereotypical gay, and that’s plenty evidence for Louis to notice a trend.

“No. Well. I guess it’s Thomas who pointed out that I should maybe dress differently. He thought I would look good if I tried to dress a little more masculine. I guess.”

He says it just as they’re pulling into a space, and Louis almost takes out someone’s convertible due to distraction. Now, at least, he can turn to get a proper look at Harry. “Thomas told you that your clothes make you look too- what, too camp?”

“Yeah. He hates it when I dress like this. Sometimes he throws out my old clothes if he sees them lying around,” he adds after a pause. “But he buys me new stuff from the thrift shop, though.”

“Do you like the new stuff he buys you?”

“Well, I mean- his style is kind of different than mine, I guess…”

He’s hedging and Louis knows it. “Just between you and me. Do you like the clothes he picks out for you?”

“Not really,” Harry slowly admits, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, I do. It’s just, he doesn’t like to spend a lot of money, so he goes to the thrift shop. And sometimes the stuff he gets is just really worn and stretched and stuff. And like, older and stuff.”

“And how do you feel, when you wear the clothes?”

“Different, I guess. Not as good. I feel out of place in them, if that makes sense? And I guess I just wish I was able to look nicer, you know?”

“You can dress however you want, Harry, you’re an adult,” Louis replies when he’s swallowed his alarm at how this story is unfolding. “It’s sweet of you to care what Thomas thinks, but- you shouldn’t wear clothes that you’re not comfortable in, you know? You should wear things you like. Just. In my opinion.”

Harry’s frown deepens. “But you’re supposed to like what your boyfriend buys for you.”

“You’re not _supposed_ to like anything. You like what you like, and you dislike what you dislike. That’s just how it works out, and you should never have to be ashamed of what you like.”

“But that’s what boyfriends _do,_ right? They like, buy each other clothes and you wear them. Right?”

“Maybe some boyfriends, but just because Thomas is your boyfriend doesn’t mean you _have_ to wear the clothes he gets for you. Well, just because Thomas is your _not-_ boyfriend,” he amends with only the barest hint of sarcasm.

It’s too slight for Harry to even detect. “Right. Well. I dunno. It makes him happy, and that’s what counts, right?”

Louis would like to point out that what counts is whether _Harry_ is happy, and that the satisfaction of some significant other (except not really) is second to that any day. A not-really significant other who was starting more and more to give Louis a very bad feeling. Who was this Thomas guy? Why was he in a sort-of relationship with a kid that admitted he identifies as gay if Thomas isn’t gay himself? Why is he so concerned with Harry looking camp? And why on _earth_ would he be telling Harry not to wear a pair of jeans that he looks _that_ phenomenal in?

But they’ve been sitting in the car with the engine running for far too long already, and with every sentence that bubbly boy who’d greeted Louis an hour ago was slipping further and further into distress. So Louis just bites his tongue for the hundredth time and shrugs. “It’s your choice, Harry. Whatever you want to do.” And that has to be enough for now.

Leaving things unsaid has always left Louis with a bad taste in his mouth, but at least this time it pays off. Dropping the subject means Happy Harry is back, so excited as they make their way to the building that his long legs start lengthening their stride and all of a sudden Louis has to half-jog to keep up. “Wait for me, Harold,” he says, a little out of breath.

Harry slows at once, looking over at Louis with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just so excited. We’re going to see _The 1975._ In _concert._ Like a _live_ concert.”

“That’s what Ticketmaster told me, yeah,” Louis laughed. “Come on, then, I think we’re supposed to be in this queue.”

They were really early, enough so that they were able to get a spot standing right behind the barrier down by the stage. “This is ace,” Harry said excitedly, spinning around to examine every inch of the venue. He was so jittery that his hands trembled where he held on tight to the barrier.

Already, the club was filling up. “I’m going to run to the bar really quick before it gets too crowded, yeah?” Louis said loudly, and Harry nodded absentmindedly as he examined the (apparently fascinating) acoustic tiles on the ceiling. He didn’t notice Louis laughing and shaking his head as he slipped through the crowd.

Twenty minutes later, though, he was definitely relieved to see Louis returning, slipping in between bodies as he struggled to the front. “I was starting to get worried,” Harry half-shouted over the chatter of the now-full venue and the music playing through the sound system. “You were gone for a while…”

“You haven’t been to many concerts, have you?” Louis asked with a laugh. “The wait at the bar was already crazy, and people almost never believe you enough to move out of your way when you swear that your friend is up at the front. Beer?” He holds out one of the four bottles clutched in his hands.

Harry has hesitation written all over him. “I don’t- I shouldn’t,” he says meekly. “I told you, I’m embarrassing when I’m drunk.”

“You’re like twelve feet tall, this beer isn’t going to do a thing to you,” Louis said with a roll of his eyes. Harry still looks unsure. “I’m not trying to pressure you,” he tacks on, gentler, “I just thought I’d offer. And I genuinely think that you’ll be fine with one or two beers. Yeah?”

He doesn’t bring up that when he’d been up at the bar he’d been thinking about how Harry was so excited he could barely breathe, or how he was hoping that a little alcohol might calm Harry down enough that he could enjoy the show without getting overstimulated. He’s secretly relieved when Harry smiles, nods, and accepts the beer Louis is offering.

Louis puts the other two on the ground in front of them, right next to the barrier so they won’t be knocked over. It’s only about ten minutes until showtime, and the buzz of the room gets louder as time goes on. When Harry’s beer is up, Louis offers him another. He even manages to sneak a third into his hand when the lights go down and Harry’s too distracted to notice.

It’s obvious, from the way he cheers so loudly and sings along so enthusiastically throughout the concert that he’s not _drunk,_ but he’s certainly far enough along that he’s authentic. There’s none of the usual worries and insecurities that keep him in check, only loose, excitable, _happy_ Harry.

_Although,_ Louis thinks as he watches Harry close his eyes and sing with just as much passion as the band, _maybe it’s not so much to do with the alcohol, after all._

He couldn’t even hear Harry’s voice over the music, but he watched his lips form the words like a caress as they blared from the speaker. _I’m running low on know-how with this beat I made for two. And I remember that I like you, no matter what I found._ The music spins on and Harry’s heart is spinning with it, every line of every song looking perfectly in place in his mouth.

When the lights come back up, Louis wonders quietly when he stopped looking at the stage and just stood satisfied to watch the magical change in the boy he came with.

“That was incredible,” Harry buzzed as soon as they were out of the building and into the night where they could hear each other again. He was wandering in curved lines as they walked, though from euphoria or alcohol, Louis couldn’t tell.

“It was,” Louis agreed. “Did you have fun?”

“That was the most fun thing I’ve ever done in my life,” said Harry seriously. “I’ve never been that close to the stage before. Louis, did you _see_ that? And they sounded so good, I didn’t know bands could even _sound_ that good live.”

“Jesus, if I’d known you were going to have a religious experience in the audience, I would have stopped you from drinking in church,” Louis laughed in response.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that, by the way. You got four beers and I drank three. That’s not equal.”

Louis grinned mischievously. “Yeah, well, you’re bigger so you get more. Plus, I’m driving home. And for the record, I don’t know what you were talking about alcohol making you act weird. You seemed fine to me.”

“That’s because you didn’t get me properly drunk,” Harry cheerfully informed him. His arm reached out and wrapped around Louis’ waist, tugging him until they were hip to hip as they walked. “Thank you for coming with me, Louis. I had such a good time. You’re such a good friend.”

“Of course I came, I had a fun time, too.”

“What’s your favorite song by them?”

“Who, me? My favorite? Uh…” Louis wracked his brains, trying to remember some titles from last night’s cram session. “Dunno, don’t have one. What about yours?”

“Do you like their song ‘America,’ off their last album?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s my favorite, I think.”

Something about Louis’ answer struck Harry funny enough to double him over in a fit of giggles. Louis stopped and waited in confusion as the pedestrian flow on the sidewalk split around them. “Gotcha!” Harry declared when he was apparently done. “You’re a little liar.”

“I am not!”

“They don’t have a song called that, Louis.”

“Oh.” _Shit._

“You were lying about liking The 1975, weren’t you?”

“Well, not _really,”_ Louis hedged. “I never actually said I liked them, before. And I _do_ like them. I just… well I hadn’t actually listened to them before last night, no.”

Harry rolls his eyes and keeps walking, leaving Louis to trail along. “And you got on me for pretending to like football.”

“That’s different,” argues Louis, though they both know that it isn’t. “At least I don’t hate The 1975. I wasn’t miserable. I really did have a good time, you know.”

“Does that mean that we’ll go to more concerts and do more fun things together?”

“Depends, are you always so giggly and excited when you get to do things you like?”

_“That_ depends on how much alcohol is involved, I think.”

A smile breaks across Louis’ face. “Yeah, well. Either way the answer is yes. You’re adorable when you’re in your element.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Louis does, but only because he’s already made the only point important enough to make.

………………

_“Louis…”_

_His name sounded so good coming from Harry’s lips, moaned a little brokenly into Louis’ own mouth. He could barely get the sound out, because every second that his mouth wasn’t occupied with that of the boy beneath him, he was panting lowly into the space between them._

_Louis’ heart was beating in doubletime, his lips working just as fervently as Harry’s. He could feel the pillows beneath him, cool and soft, cradling him like the bed was a cloud and this moment with Harry was heaven itself. Above him was that green-eyed deity, their bodies pressed together from head to toe. He could feel every line of Harry’s body, every muscle contracting as they moved their lips in sync._

_His hands found the bare skin of Harry’s waist, fingertips tracing patterns on the porcelain there. It was so smooth… he traveled down to Harry’s hips, slipped his thumbs beneath the waistband of those agonizing jeans just to feel the way they clung to the boy’s hips so sinfully._

_Harry just panted harder when Louis rubbed his hands slowly up and down the backs of his thighs, feeling the curves of Harry’s bum and the way that his body was hot where his thighs met. “So hard for you,” Harry moaned into Louis’ ear, sucking a lovebite into the skin behind his jaw._

_Their hips connected and Louis could feel that it was the truth. Harry was rutting against him now, grinding circles into Louis’ thigh, begging for release. Louis’ hands found Harry’s belt, fumbled to get it undone, to peel those jeans down toned thighs so that he could finally touch Harry, finally make him moan for real-_

“Ah, fuck!” Louis swore as he jerked awake, groggy and disoriented from sleep, his face too hot and his breathing far too shallow. His hand went straight to his crotch, and he bucked up in search of friction before he could even register that he was painfully hard. He could feel moisture in his boxers where he was already leaking precum. “Fuck,” he swore again, jerking his hands away and tossing his head back onto the pillows.

_You are too fucking old for wet dreams, Louis,_ he thought furiously, except apparently he wasn’t. The clock said 3:47 AM, he’d been dead asleep, and here he was aching for a release because of some stupid dream-

-about Harry. The details flooded back to him, making him feel hot all over and trembly in his stomach. Harry, on top of him, grinding into his hips and moaning for him, naked except for jeans that fit him like a glove. Harry, begging to be touched. Harry, whimpering his name.

It hit Louis like a ton of bricks. He had a raging hard-on because he’d been dreaming about touching Harry.

Something in the back of his mind told him that he ought to be concerned that his subconscious had chosen Harry to act out his sexual frustrations with, but the tightness of his boxers was too much to be ignored. Louis bit his lip and glanced across the room through the darkness to Liam’s bed. He should go to the bathroom, so that he wouldn’t have to worry about waking Liam- except that Louis seriously doubted that he could walk well enough to make it into the other room.

_Sorry, Li,_ he thought briefly before slipping his boxers down past the swell of his bum.

He tried not to make too much noise as he fumbled for the bottle of lube he kept tucked between the bed and the wall, tugging it free and squeezing some into the palm of his hand. He didn’t even bother warming it up- the cold of the gel against the hot of his flesh made him suck in a gasp as he took hold of himself and started stroking.

Louis gave his best attempt at having a neutral wank. He worked hard to focus only on the feel of his hand on his dick, to not think of anything else at all. When that failed, he tried to think only of porn stars or models or the fittest men in Hollywood- they were usually what was on his mind at times like these. They were usually the images that were lit up behind Louis’ eyelids when he was spilling into a tissue or his hand or down the shower drain. They should be enough to put him out of his misery now.

But try as he might, it was Harry who he kept seeing. It was Harry’s thighs, the curve of his waist, the angle of his jawline. His mind kept replaying that imaginary audio of Harry’s mouth right next to his ear, moaning for him, begging for him, whimpering and panting and grinding into Louis and _fuck._

The grunt Louis makes when he finally comes is impressively quiet, considering the way that he can’t seem to catch his breath for ages afterwards. His whole body is still shaky in the aftermath when he forces himself out of bed to shuffle to the bathroom to find something to clean the mess off of his hand and body. Somewhere in the back of his mind he notes how much he misses having someone _else_ to clean him up when his knees are still too wobbly to walk properly. He brushes the thought aside and grabs a washcloth to gently wipe the stickiness from his skin.

He never quite gets to the point where he feels _clean_ though. Eventually he tosses the cloth in his laundry pile, realizing even as sleepy and spent as he is that it has nothing to do with the mess on his body. It’s more about the way that he can’t avoid thinking about how he just wanked to the idea of his platonic, indifferent, and utterly taken friend.

Burying his face in his pillow when he returns to bed doesn’t help either. _It’s okay, it happens,_ he tells himself over and over again. _Harry’s a good looking lad. You like good looking lads. It’s completely normal for you to be thinking about him like that. It’s not like you did anything with him. It’s not like this has to be a weird thing. It was just a wank, nothing more._

Right?

It’s the mantra that he turns over and over in his mind until he falls back asleep. _Just a dream. Just a wank. It’s okay. Just a dream. Just a wank. It’s okay. Just a dream. Just a wank._

_Just Harry._

He continues to promises himself that nothing is different when Harry texts the next day and wants to know if he can come over while the landlord is at his and Zayn’s place fixing a leaky faucet. Friends go over to friends’ places all the time. Harry’s his friend. _It’s just Harry. It was just a dream. It was just a wank._

“Hey, H!” he calls cheerfully when Harry lets himself in.

Harry’s face splits into a grin at the enthusiasm in Louis’ greeting. “Hi,” he replies, drawing out the syllable for lengthy seconds. “You alright?” He plops down on the other end of the couch, pulling his legs up to cross in front of him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ace.” _As long as I don’t think about those fucking jeans of yours._

Which of course just makes him think about those fucking jeans of Harry’s, and it’s all downhill from there. _Shut the fuck up,_ he tells his brain furiously. _Do not do this right now. Do_ not _make this weird!_

It doesn’t take long for Harry to notice that Louis is fidgeting and darting his glance around the room with a distracted expression, and he frowns. “Um, Lou, you sure you’re okay?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Except that he isn’t, and Harry may not be as brilliant at this sort of thing as Louis is but even _he_ can tell that. “This was a bad idea,” he said, body crumpling in on itself in discomfort. “I shouldn’t have texted you so last minute, you’ve obviously got other things you need to be doing…”

It’s the worry on Harry’s face that solidifies it for Louis. He isn’t going to let some stupid dream- or some stupid overreaction to it- upset Harry. “Don’t be silly,” he said fondly, exhaling the last of the stress he’ll allow himself to feel. _Take care of Harry. He’s the priority. Don’t think about you, just take care of Harry._

He can tell that what Harry needs is reassurance, so Louis gives it to him. “I’m just on a caffeine buzz, that’s all,” he lies with a grin. “Nice and jumpy and jittery and insufferable. Don’t mind me, yeah?”

It earns him a tiny smile. “Do you get hyper easily?” Harry asked.

Louis is ever so casual when he stretches out his legs and tucks them underneath Harry’s thighs. It hasn’t escaped his notice that every time Harry’s in contact with someone, it’s like a giant exhale of stress for him. He just likes to be touched. And yes, there’s the worry draining right out of him. “If you think I’m a bundle of energy now, just wait ‘til you see me on like a Red Bull and vodka.”

They calm down together, like they’re sharing a brain, like they’re feeding off each other’s emotions so acutely that they’re completely in sync. The morning goes on. The tension leaks from them, and soon they’re shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other just the tiniest bit as they watch some romantic comedy Harry put on.

Louis has always kind of hated romantic comedies. Harry barely stops grinning for the entire two hours. Louis doesn’t mind this movie all that much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: homophobia, homophobic language, internalized homophobia. Also someone is a dick to Harry and I feel like that deserves a warning of it's own. So.

It was impossible not to see how soft Louis really was when he jumped at the chance to babysit for his cousin Lou when she texted him the next weekend. He might be having the tiniest bit of withdrawals after not seeing his sisters since the start of semester; when he’s home he gets to shower them with attention and affection, and when he’s at school their absence makes him feel the tiniest bit lost. So the opportunity to love on little Lux? Not one that he would, or could, pass up.

Niall and Liam tag along, partially because they had nothing better to do and partially because they were (almost) as enamored with Lux as Louis was. A lot of the time they would spend holiday weekends in Doncaster with him, since Ireland was a long trip and Wolverhampton was never as exciting as a weekend with the Tomlinsons. So Lou was used to seeing the boys altogether, and after all, surely three sets of clumsy hands were better than one mischievous pair?

As soon as they were in the door, Lux was toddling over and cementing herself to Louis’ leg with an ear-splitting shriek of joy. “Hey munchkin,” Louis laughed, bending over double to kiss the top of her head and earning a mouthful of wispy blonde hair in the process. “How are you? Been good for your mum, love?”

“About as good as you ever were for yours,” Lou snorted from a few steps behind. “She’s two, so she’s into absolutely everything. Watch out for the silverware, she likes to take the forks and hide them around the house.”

“Yeah, Daisy had a phase with that, too. Except it was with keys. Shiny objects, I guess?” laughed Louis as Lux released him to move on to ‘Uncle Ni’ and ‘Uncle Li.’

“I guess so,” Lou shrugged as she pulled on her boots. “There’s chicken nuggets in the freezer that she’ll eat, if you can manage not to burn the house down. And no juice after 6, only water. Try to have her in bed by 8, but you can stretch her out to 8:30 if she’s wired, yeah?”

“Are you running out on us already?” Niall asked, clutching his chest dramatically. “You’re breaking my heart, Lou. Barely even got to see your beautiful face.”

It only results in an eye roll from Lou. “Stop flirting with me, Horan, I’m married and a mum. And yeah, I’ve _really_ got to be going. Tom’s been at the restaurant fifteen minutes already, he made the reservation too early. Anyways, we’re just doing dinner and a movie so we won’t be past midnight, yeah?”

“I think we’ve got it covered,” Liam snickers as he tosses Lux over his shoulder to a chorus of giggles. “You’ll be good, right babe? Or else we’ll just have to tickle you to death.”

Lux is squealing ever-louder at Liam’s little tickles when Lou delivers kisses to each of their cheeks and rushes out the door. When she’s finally released, she stands before Louis and tugs on his pocket. “Unkin Lou?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can we play dwess up like last time?”

The other boys burst into laughter as Louis sighs. _One_ time you agree to put on a tutu in order to stop the waterworks, and the kid never lets you forget it… “What are we going to dress up as today, Lux? Doctors? Cowboys?”

“No, pwincesses!” Lux declares, taking hold of Louis’ hand.

Louis just lets it happen with a resigned smile and an over-the-shoulder finger at his mates. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, love.”

All four spend the evening engaged in re-enactments of various scenarios of princesses being saved from a dragon. At Lux’s insistence, she was the dragon. Louis was the princess, trapped in the tower (on top of the dinner table). Liam was the noble knight, Niall his trusty steed.

The knight pauses to make chicken nuggets, but by the time bedtime rolls around they’re all pretty tuckered out. The dragon has to be carried to bed and tucked in by the princess because she’s already falling asleep on his shoulder. In the aftermath, all three boys stretch out on living room furniture with matching, exhausted sighs.

Eventually Louis musters the strength to go make himself a cup of coffee, yawning all the while. Liam raises and eyebrow upon his return. “Isn’t that your fifth cup of the day?”

“Sixth.”

“How do you sleep at night, dude?” asked Niall, eyeing Louis with concern.

Liam snorted. “He doesn’t. Keeps wandering the dorm at odd hours, muttering and carrying on and keeping innocent roommates from their sleep.”

“Oh, so that’s why he’s been looking so shit.”

“Excuse the fuck out of you!”

“He’s right, Louis,” said Liam seriously, crossing his arms in a distinctly fatherly way. “You’ve looked off for a week now, and I’m not just saying that to be a dick.”

“Well you’ve done it anyways,” Louis replied quite grumpily. “What is this, an intervention?”

“Nah, man, just a question. You alright? You’ve been out of whack since the concert, and I’d be a shit roomie if I didn’t at least ask.”

Louis could have made the conversation dissipate pretty quickly, if he wanted to. Liam knew him pretty wholly, and Niall was clever and intuitive as well, but Louis was the master. He knew exactly what he could say and do that would satisfy their protective curiosity in under two minutes.

But the thing is, Louis really, _really_ hates lying.

And if he’s honest- which he always tries to be- Liam is right about him being out of sorts. He can’t sleep very well, so he drinks coffee, which suppresses his appetite and makes him jittery, which makes it hard to sleep, which makes him tired and cranky and the whole vicious cycle continues. He hasn’t felt truly good in a week. Since the concert, actually.

In the end, Louis opts for the truth. “I’m worried about Harry.”

Apparently that wasn’t the answer they were expecting. “Wait, what?” says Niall, blinking in confusion. “Harry? Why?”

“I don’t know how to say it, exactly. There’s just…” Words are struggling to form for Louis, an experience as disconcerting as it is rare. “There’s just something not right there.”

“Oh. Like a touched-in-the-head thing?”

“A tou- _no,_ nothing like that, Niall. Not that kind of ‘not right.’ Like a ‘something’s off’ sort of situation.” Louis pauses to try to work out how to put a week’s worth of insomniac rambles into concrete sentences. “There’s something not right about his boyfriend.”

“You met him? When?” Liam asked.

“No, no, I’ve never met him. But Harry talks about him, and of course I see things. So it’s all just little stuff, but it’s giving me bad vibes.”

“Little stuff like what?”

“He’s so backed so far into the closet that Harry panicked when he realized he’d let his name slip. There aren’t any pictures of him at Harry’s place. He tells Harry he’s too skinny and buys him shitty clothes he doesn’t like so he won’t look ‘too gay.’ Harry lights up when you give him attention, but never seems to expect it or know how to accept it. Harry’s just… people in relationships are supposed to be used to affection, you know?” Louis finishes lamely with a frown and a shrug.

“That’s heavy,” Niall muses, and Liam nods in agreement. “You think the relationship is like… abusive?”

The word makes Louis stop and think very carefully. “I’m not sure,” he answers at last. “I don’t think physically or anything. But emotionally? Maybe. It’s definitely unhealthy. The worst part is Harry doesn’t seem to notice. He’s so busy being enchanted with Thomas to sense something’s up.”

“Thomas who?”

“Dunno his last name. Saw his picture once, though. On Harry’s phone, when he called. Brown eyes, blonde hair, really square jaw.”

Liam’s eyes are wider than they should be. “Has he got a wide nose and like a birthmark or something on one cheek?”

“Yeah, yeah. Why, do you know him?”

“Mate, if you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, he’s bad news,” says Liam slowly. “That sounds like Thomas Dixon.”

“And that is…?”

“Captain of the football team. And an absolute homophobic arse.”

“Homophobic?” Louis repeats dumbly. “No, that can’t make sense. I mean- it _doesn’t_ make sense.” But the more he thinks about it, the more it does. Harry always worried about acting or looking too gay, being pushed to look more masculine and strong… If Harry called Thomas his friend instead of his boyfriend, Louis would have no problem believing that he was the negative, hateful person in Harry’s life slowly dragging him down.

Could it be?

“Why do you says he’s a homophobe?” Louis just asks nervously.

“Always calling people fags. Flips out if anyone happens to accidentally look at him in the locker room. He pays extra for his own hotel room whenever we travel for games because he says it’s gay to share a room.” Liam looks like Louis feels- nauseous. “The dude is no good, honestly. I don’t even talk to him if I can help it, he makes me _that_ uncomfortable.”

“Unkin Lou?”

The little voice from the hallways has Louis’ attention at once. “Yes, baby? What’s the matter? C’mere, love.” He holds out his arms and Lux crawls right into his lap. “Can’t sleep?”

“I had a bad dream.”

“I’ve got you, don’t worry,” soothed Louis, pressing kisses to her hair as he rocked them both back and forth. “Try to go back to sleep, yeah? I’ve got you. I’ll hold you ‘til you’re asleep.”

Lux nods her head and sticks a thumb in her mouth, eyes already starting to drift closed. And Louis knows she’s probably just playing coy for her babysitters, gunning for attention that her parents probably wouldn’t be fooled enough to give her. He knows he probably should have put her right back to bed.

But. Sometimes giving little ones a cuddle is as soothing for the cuddler as the cuddled.

Niall is the first to speak after that, voice low so it wouldn’t disturb the dozing child in Louis’ arms. “Can someone even be gay and still be homophobic?”

The shoulder Lux isn’t laying on lifts in a shrug. “Dunno. It’s hard to say. He might have it justified in his mind as okay, or different, or… I don’t know. But it’s possible. Sexuality is… messy.”

“And what does that all mean for Harry?”

It’s the very question Louis has been asking himself and the question he least wants to answer. Those thoughts could rub off on Harry. They could creep into his mind and poison him. They could twist him and corrupt him and break him, as easy as breathing.

If Louis’ honest- which he always tries to be- things don’t look good for the bright-eyed boy.

…………………

Harry rubbed his hands together briskly to get the feeling back after the cold walk to Thomas’ flat while he waited for his laptop to finish starting up. The other boy was lying on his back on the bed, tossing a tennis ball into the air and catching it and looking completely disinterested. “When did you say this project was due?” Harry asked quietly.

“I just told you like an hour ago,” replied Thomas with a roll of his eyes. “It’s due tomorrow morning.”

“Sorry, I forgot. Do you, um, want to come here so I can show you what to do?” Harry already has the program open and a blank template pulled up. Apparently one of Thomas’ law classes requires him to make a professional business card, and he rang up Harry to come show him how. There might not be much Harry’s good at, but he can do that. He glows when Thomas asks him to help.

Now Thomas sighs and comes to plop down next to Harry at the table, still tossing around his tennis ball and rocking back on two chair legs. “This isn’t going to take long, is it?”

Harry smiles, proud to be able to answer in the negative. “No, no, it’s really easy. See, the templates are all here, and you pick one. A plainer one is probably best here, ‘cause it’s supposed to be professional. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Which is close enough to approving of Harry’s opinion that it makes the starry-eyed boy blush with pleasure. He tries to keep it together, for Thomas’ sake. Thomas hates it when he gets all stupid and sentimental. “What kind of stuff is supposed to go on here?” he asks nonchalantly.

“Dunno,” Thomas said with a shrug. “The paper’s over there in that notebook.”

He doesn’t appear to be moving to get it himself, so Harry jumps up to grab the spiral notebook off of the bed. Stuck between two pages is an assignment sheet with a rubric and a scribbled order for Chinese food that probably isn’t supposed to be there. It makes Harry smile. _How cute is that? He’s so forgetful._

But Thomas gives him an impatient look, so Harry is back down to business. “Okay, it says right here which order to put all of your stuff in. You can type it into this box, and it’ll show up in all of the others on the page, too.” He pushed the laptop over to Thomas and put the sheet neatly next to it so he could read everything that needed to be included.

Thomas just blinked at him. “You’re not going to type it in?”

Harry blushes as he takes the computer back and starts entering the data himself. _Don’t be stupid, Harry._ Why was he trying to get Thomas to type it in? Obviously it made more sense for him to do it, since he was the one in front of the keyboard.

“Is that it?” Thomas yawned, fiddling with something on his phone.

“You still have to pick your like, colors and fonts and stuff,” Harry says with an apology in his voice. “And then print. But it’s really easy, though. Which one do you want?” he asked, pulling up the menu of themes and looking hopefully between it and Thomas.

“I don’t care.” He doesn’t even glance at the screen.

“What about this one?” Harry tries, selecting a theme with green accents and a clean font. It matches his eyes, and besides, green is his favorite color. “I think it’s pretty.”

_Now_ Thomas looks over, if only to shoot Harry a scowl. “It’s a business card, it’s not supposed to be fucking cute. Don’t be a fag.”

Harry sort of crumples under the words. “S-sorry. Sorry,” he said quickly, deselecting his choice. “I didn’t mean- sorry.” _Of course he doesn’t like that one,_ Harry thought to himself. _He’s not a little fruitcake like you. Why even show that to him? God, you’re so embarrassing._

He scrolls through all of the themes three times before he feels up to trying another suggestion. It’s black and blue with lots of bold, masculine lines. He doesn’t call it pretty. Thomas shrugs his approval.

“Cool,” Thomas says when Harry’s saved and printed it for him. His hoodie is lying on the floor nearby and he snatches it up and tugs it on. “I have to go to class. So.”

Harry is so busy wondering whether Thomas saying ‘cool’ to the business card or to him that it takes him a minute to notice that Thomas is standing next to the door and looking at him pointedly. “Oh. Should I- sorry, let me just get my stuff.” He starts shoving his things back into his bag, haphazard in his haste and his eagerness to please.

“You’re really fucking slow,” Thomas drawled from the doorway. “Come on, seriously. Don’t make me late.”

When they reach the bottom of the stairs outside Thomas’ building Harry turns around to thank him for letting him come over, but Thomas is already walking down the street in the opposite direction. Harry swallows his words very quietly, so that even the idea of calling out after him won’t trouble the air around him. He doesn’t need to disturb Thomas. Thomas doesn’t want to be disturbed by Harry.

He doesn’t realize until halfway home that Thomas never thanked him. It takes him a lot longer to realize that he isn’t all that surprised.

It bothers him the rest of the way to the flat, though. Why hadn’t Thomas said anything? He'd been an embarrassing little fruit, but had he been that bad? What if he'd irritated Thomas? The idea fostered in his mind until he was back in the empty flat and Harry was in a proper foul mood.

He put a baking competition show on in the background so he'd have something other than silence to listen to while he fixed his lunch. Someone dropped a cake. He carefully mixed the ingredients for his homemade vinaigrette.

Usually, he would have felt quite cheerful by this point. His favorite show was on, the lettuce in his salad was nice and crisp, and he could stretch all of his gangly body out on the couch because Zayn was in class. That was pretty much everything necessary for it all to be right in the world.

Except it wasn't, and Harry was spending more time tearing the pieces of his salad to shreds with his fork than he was actually eating it. All of a sudden, the fresh veggies taste sour and he has to push the bowl away so he won’t pick it up and throw it. What was _wrong_ with him? Can’t make a not-gay business card, can’t make it thirty minutes without missing Thomas, and now he’s sitting around watching a baking show and eating salad?

God, what a _fruit._

In the freezer he finds Zayn’s box of Hot Pockets. Normally when he sees them he has to resist the temptation to throw the whole box out, but this time there is no hesitation in his actions. He grabs two and puts them in the microwave, watches melted cheese and artificially flavored sauce leak out onto the plate for three minutes.

They’re so hot they burn his tongue, but he scarfs them down anyways and hates himself a little less afterwards. If he could just bulk up a little bit more, not be quite so slender, that would be good. He’d look a lot better then, a lot less feminine and slight. That would definitely be better, especially if it pissed Thomas off a little less to look at Harry.

He thinks about that a lot- how disappointed Thomas must be when he looks at Harry. Harry’s certainly disappointed when he shuffles over to the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Body too slight. Worn clothes hanging off of him. At least they’re not his own clothes, though- those are even worse. Better to look like a starving orphan drowning in charity clothes than a fag.

The word leaves a bad taste in Harry’s mouth without him even having to say it out loud. He’s always hated that word. It’s too short, too sharp, too easy to throw around. It’s too easy to superimpose over the image he sees in the mirror.

He stops looking at himself after a while. Turns on the shower, hot, so the room steams up and he _can’t_ look at himself. The water feels good on his skin. It burns and scours and washes his thoughts away.

He’ll smile again, later. It’ll just take a few cycles of lather, rinse, and repeat before he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, if I put a trigger warning on a chapter that you think you might not want to mess with (i.e. you feel that you might not be able to handle the subject matter I'm warning for), feel free to message me and I will, no hesitation, give you a cliff notes version so that you can skip the triggering stuff and still get the gist of the story. That's probably lame because you're all intelligent people and wouldn't be reading if you couldn't handle the stuff tagged on the story, but. The offer stands, because I don't want anyone feeling not-okay. Okay? Okay :)
> 
> Canonlarry.tumblr if you need me :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: boys doing things to other boys' penises, homophobia, homophobic language, internalized homophobia, emotional abuse.
> 
> .....but there's also a fuckton of cute if that helps

Louis was pretty much over this whole day before it began. There was something about _knowing_ that it was a Saturday, and _knowing_ how he should still be asleep, that made turning off the alarm especially difficult. Almost as difficult as seeing Liam slumbering on across the room because apparently Soc majors don’t have to do stupid community service projects on their weekend mornings.

It wasn’t that Louis particularly minded contributing to the community- if he could go and fold and sort clothing donations at a women’s shelter and improve someone’s life by doing that, he was game. He’d just be _more_ game if it were after 2pm.

In an effort to pre-emptively make up for his likely lack of enthusiasm, Louis even made it a point to look as neat and trustworthy as possible. Careful eyeliner, facial piercings that matched one another, carefully constructed fringe. His jeans were the cleanest he had. There was no hope to cover up all of the tattoos- they sprawled too far up his neck and too far down either arm for that- but he did offset them with a cheerful baby blue shirt that somehow seemed to make him less menacing and more of an “I’m here to help you, not to steal your car” kind of guy.

He was only five minutes late, which was something to be proud of for him. Even still, he made his entrance to the shelter very quietly, in case there might be someone waiting inside to pounce on him for his tardiness.

There wasn’t. There were maybe a dozen volunteers standing around awkwardly with hands in their pockets, while two women in matching t-shirts emblazoned with the organization logo apparently struggled to understand something on a clipboard. Louis moved to take his place on the back wall, where he could avoid notice and notice everything, and just as he started to survey the room more carefully, his eyes fell upon-

-Harry, all smiles as he bounded over to where Louis was. “Hey, kid, what are you doing here?” he asked the younger lad as he opened his arms and accepted him into a quick, tight hug.

“I’m supposed to be doing an observation on a non-profit for my Business 203 class,” answered Harry delightedly. “So I’m volunteering here today!”

“Me too- well, the volunteering bit, not the business class thing. This is for my Human Services 341. We have to have like 15 hours of community service total, and apparently Saturday mornings are primetime for volunteer work? What a miserable stroke of luck,” Louis sighed.

“Well at least you aren’t alone, right?”

“Yeah,” replied Louis fondly. “That does make it better.”

Harry took a step closer and leaned down to mumble in Louis’ ear. “Thomas is here, too.”

_“The_ Thomas?”

“I- yeah. The one I always talk about. Do you want to meet him?”

He sounds so nervous and excited that Louis just _has_ to pull back and look at his face. Sure enough, his eyes are as bright as could be, even as he gnaws a hole in that bottom lip of his. “Of course, yeah,” Louis quickly assures him. “I’ve heard so much about him.”

Which isn’t technically a lie, even if it isn’t all of the way truthful. He certainly has heard a lot about Thomas in the month now since he’s known Harry. But that isn’t what makes him so eager to meet the mystery man. It’s more about the things that he _hasn’t_ heard- the things that he’s seen, the things that he’s read off of Harry’s face when Harry didn’t know he was telling a story. The things that he has spun from the details into webs of theories and conjecture and curiosity. Those are the things that have the sleepiness gone from his mind, replaced by sharp coolness and attention.

Either way, he’d been waiting for this far too long.

Harry started to lead the way, looking back over his shoulder every few steps to make sure Louis was still following as they wove their way in and out of the people milling around. When he came to a stop, it was before a man that Louis would have picked out of a lineup as Thomas based solely on the sneer on his face.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with blonde hair that was right on the borderline between “just got out of bed” and “I’m trying to look like I just got out of bed.” His clothes were trendy from head to toe- all name brands in the latest styles so that he might have just stepped off of the pages of a magazine.

But what really stood out to Louis was the way that everything about his body- the cross of his arms, the tilt of his torso away from Harry, the narrow of his eyes, the scowl of his mouth- said that there was something terribly wrong. That was the body language of someone forced to hang out in a public bathroom, not someone spending the day with someone who they were -more or less- in a relationship with. Whether you’re sure of your sexuality or not, you didn’t look at someone who was that openly adoring of you with disgust like that unless there was something broken in your mind.

It sort of made Louis want to grab Harry, run, and never look back.

He knew, though, that it wasn’t his place to protect Harry from this. It wasn’t his job to warn him that he’d fallen for someone with too much anger behind his eyes. It wasn’t his right. It wasn’t his privilege.

“Hey man,” he said instead. “I’m Louis Tomlinson.”

“Thomas Dixon,” came the reply. “Do I know you?”

“I’m friends with Harry. Didn’t know he’d be here, but I’m glad he is. What are you in for?” And if it’s all Louis can manage not to sass the shit out of this guy, he certainly doesn’t let on.

“Volunteer work for the footie team. I’m captain.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. My roommate did his hours last week. Liam Payne- I’m sure you know him?”

“Yeah, he’s not bad.”

_I didn’t ask for a review on his skills, but alright._ Louis keeps right on biting his tongue, but takes a second to look over at Harry. He’s still caught between excitement and nervousness, bouncing on the balls of his feet and glancing back and forth between Louis and Thomas’ faces. Thomas may be steady scowling, but at least when Harry looks at Louis he finds steady (albeit forced) calm and a healthy dose of fondness.

Apparently the mystery of the clipboard has been solved, because the women in charge are turning to address the group. “Good morning, everyone,” says one cheerfully. “We’re so glad to have you here with us so bright and early. We have a lot of donations to go through, so what we’re going to do is group everyone into four groups and have each of you take a workstation, alright? Let’s see, we’ll have you all be group 1… 2… 3… and you gentlemen can be group 4. Okay, pick a station and let’s get to work!”

When her gaze had fallen on their corner of the room, it took less than a second for her to notice them standing together, draw a circle around them in the air with one long nail, and promptly declare them group 4. Louis sighed. Thomas grimaced. Harry looked pleased as punch.

Which was pretty much their attitudes throughout the morning as they went about their task, folding donated clothes and sorting them into bins by size and article. Thomas, looking pained and irritated and very put-upon. Louis, uncomfortable and suspicious but keeping a smile on his lips for Harry’s benefit. And Harry, smart enough to know that something was off but used enough to Thomas’ moods to be delighted with the situation nonetheless.

It was evident in the way Harry smiled that this was the highlight of his week. On his left, the man he loved. On his right, his new best friend. He was too caught up in a flurry of happiness to notice that there was a storm.

It was a quiet sort of storm, made up of transgressions so small you could almost miss them. An invisible tug of war. A battle of wills going on between the two men on either side of Harry, as silent as it was palpable.

For Thomas, it was in the ways that he broke Harry down. A criticism on his folding. A scoff when he expressed how much he liked a coat he was hanging up. They were each a little message to Harry that Louis did not like the sound of. _I’m in charge. I am better than you. Your thoughts are not important._

So of course it was only natural that Louis respond in exactly the opposite manner. For every disparaging comment Thomas made, Louis was ready with a kind one. How neat Harry’s stack of clothes was. How easily he lifted the heavy crates of clothes. Each one a rewrite of what he heard from Thomas. _You are important. You are worthy of attention. You contribute something good to this world._

But no matter how many smiles he managed throughout the course of the morning, there was a seething irritation bubbling just below the surface of Louis’ skin. It goes against everything in him not to get in the middle of them, to point out the way Harry’s face falls at every hint of Thomas’ disapproval, or the way Thomas notices and does nothing to apologize. It isn’t his place, it isn’t his right, it isn’t his _privilege_ to say anything.

That doesn’t mean it wasn’t completely understandable when he snapped, though.

Thomas was tugging a hoodie free from the mountain of clothes before them, and the mini-avalanche that resulted left a few lonely tees on the floor next to the table. He elbowed Harry, enough to make him stumble a step, and pointed at the fallen garments. “Hey,” he said harshly. “Pick those up.”

Louis reached out and snagged one of Harry’s belt loops and held him in place before he could jump to obey. “I’m sorry,” he said to Thomas, just a little too sweetly. “Is your fucking arm broken?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked if your fucking arm was broken. Because you knocked those shirts down and it seems to me you could pick them up just fine, yeah? Especially since Harry would have to walk all the way around you and the table to clean up your mess for you.” And then he tacked on a smile so bright that if you didn’t look close enough, you might just think that he was kidding.

(He wasn’t.)

Maybe Thomas knew it, too, because there were only a few tense moments of staring before he moved to pick them up. He didn’t say a word. Louis released Harry’s belt buckle with a cheerful wink and returned to his folding, enjoying the way that the energy of the blond man was now focused in a single, hateful direction- towards him.

_Bring it on,_ he thought as his smile grew more genuine. _Hit me with your best shot._

It wasn’t until the day was winding down and Harry was asked to use his stupendous height to reach something off of the top shelf in the store room that Thomas and Louis had their one final exchange. Thomas didn’t even look up at him. “You gay?”

“Yup.”

There was no response, unless you counted the ever-deepening scowl on Thomas’ face. It didn’t bother Louis at all, though.

Sweet relief came at noon, when the coordinators announced that this was the end of their volunteer shift. Louis yawned and stretched, listening to his vertebrae pop and crack as he straightened from the hunched pose he’d held for three hours now. Thomas looked equally relieved to be done for the day, though Harry looked like he could have gone on folding and sorting and helping for hours yet.

“You have plans after this, or you want to come get some lunch?” Louis asked Harry as they stood in line to get their papers signed for class credit. “I’m starving, I could go for a burger or something.”

Harry beamed over at him. “I don’t think I have anything going on, no. Did you want to go to that new place off campus, I think it’s called-”

“Actually, he has plans. Sorry,” Thomas cut in crossly. He didn’t sound sorry at all.

It was obviously news to Harry, who looked over to Thomas with wide eyes. Before he could even ask, the blonde leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Louis tried not to notice the blush that crawled up Harry’s throat and darkened his cheeks as he listened, or the way the pupils of those green eyes got bigger, or the way he started shifting his weight in an uncomfortable, excited manner.

He couldn’t not notice them, of course. But at least he was polite enough to look away and pretend he hadn’t.

“I guess I’m spoken for,” Harry said a little squeakily when Thomas had pulled away. Even past the buzz of excitement in his eyes, there was a hint of guilt as he looked at Louis. “Sorry, maybe we could have a rain check?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Another time.” _When you’re not too busy letting your asshole boyfriend fuck you._

The thought makes Louis cringe, and he wants to take it back, but he’s already released it into the whirring expanse of his mind, and it refuses to leave again for quite some time. He’s still thinking about it when he gets his paper signed and says his farewells, and when he’s driving back to campus, and when he’s sitting at home eating a microwave dinner that probably isn’t as good as a burger from that new place off campus would have been.

Sometimes it might be nice to be able to forget things. But Louis has a feeling that’s just not going to happen.

…………………

The whole drive back to Thomas’ place, Harry couldn’t stop turning Thomas’ whisper over and over in his mind. _You wanna go with him, or you want to suck my cock? Been a while since I’ve let you. Bet you can’t wait to be on your knees for me, little slut. Your choice._

It wasn’t too hard of a choice, in the end. He liked Louis- he liked his smile and his quick wit and the way he always understood Harry. But Thomas… Thomas was right. Harry had been waiting so long for Thomas to let him touch him again. Just the thought of being allowed made his pulse race and his stomach flutter.

Thomas was already lying back on the bed by the time Harry came in. He shrugged off his coat and shoes and came to sit next to Thomas’ slowly, carefully. He tried not to breathe too loud or move too fast- nothing to make him angry. It wouldn’t be the first time that Thomas had changed his mind.

But it wasn’t like Harry ever blamed him when he pulled away, because after all, it wasn’t like Thomas liked it. This was a gift he gave to Harry, more than he deserved. So he couldn’t bring himself to hold it against Thomas when he just didn’t want to give any more to someone who had nothing to offer in return.

This time, at least, Thomas didn’t take it back. He was still watching TV, but he looked up in irritation when Harry perched too long on the other side of the bed. “Come on, fag, are you going to do it or not?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry rushed to say, all but lunging forward to kneel on hands and knees atop Thomas’ legs. His hands shook in anticipation. _He’s actually going to let me. It’s been so long since he let me touch him._

He tried to undo Thomas’ belt as quickly as possible and pulled his jeans down to just below his hips, no further. He wasn’t allowed to pull them all the way down, because Thomas didn’t want a cockslut like Harry ogling all over his body like that. It was dirty. Harry knew better.

When he finally presses a palm to Thomas’ boxers, he can feel that he’s still mostly soft. He always is- he never gets hard until Harry starts touching him, and even then it’s not his fault. Harry knows it doesn’t mean he likes it. It’s just that sometimes your body reacts to things, even if they’re dirty and wrong.

“Get down,” Thomas grumbles when Harry starts to move his hand over his cock through the fabric. “I can’t see the TV with you like that.”

And it’s probably the most intimate thing Harry’s ever felt, the way that his torso is pressed completely to the tops of Thomas’ legs when he folds flat on top of them. He can feel the contact between them all across his chest and it makes him giddy. He feels special. He feels happy. He runs the heel of his hand slowly up from the base to the tip of Thomas’ cock, telling himself that _even if his brain knows it’s disgusting, maybe he can at least make his body feel good._

That body is starting to respond now, getting harder as Harry continues to stroke. He looks up hesitantly, to make sure Thomas’ face is still just bored and not angry, and pulls the boxers down, too. He tries not to seem too eager as he inches his body further up Thomas’ until his mouth is right over the pretty cock that Harry is so eager to have inside of him.

Thomas gives an impatient huff and Harry stops admiring and starts putting his mouth to work. He’s been told on many occasions that his mouth is too good, that he must have sucked a lot of cock to do it like that. Harry thinks of that now and blushes in shame. He hopes that Thomas isn’t thinking about how slutty he is right now, because then he might make Harry stop and Harry does _not_ want to stop.

But still Thomas doesn’t push him away. He’s harder now, swollen, and when Harry bobs his head up and down on Thomas’ cock he tries not to let his mind wander to what it might feel like inside of him. He knows better than to ask. It makes Thomas angry when he asks faggot questions like that.

A pinch to the sensitive skin on the inside of Harry’s upper arm makes him flinch, but then he melts into the fingertips because _Thomas is touching him._ “Hurry up,” Thomas demands, and Harry is all too happy to oblige. Anything that Thomas wanted, he could have from Harry. The speed of Harry’s hands and his lips increase as he feels the involuntary little twitches of Thomas’ hips as he gets closer and closer.

Harry knows how it’s going to happen. The first couple of times, Thomas would push him off and then hold his head still while he came all over Harry’s face. After that he stopped, because Harry liked it too much and Thomas said he looked like a total slag with cum all in his curls.

Now, he always grabs the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck and holds his head still as he fucks up the last few thrusts. Harry makes fists in the bedsheets and tries not to cry at the rough way Thomas’ cock shoves into his throat, focusing on the way that it feels to have a hand in his hair.

When cum starts going down his throat, Harry does his best not to make happy noises. Not when Thomas has just done all of this for him. Not when Thomas doesn’t like for Harry to make noises.

Thomas is pushing him off, and as red lips leave softening cock with a little _pop,_ there is always that split second in which Harry wishes that Thomas would flip him over and take care of him. He wishes that Thomas would lean down and give him a kiss maybe, or say thank you. Of course, he never does, and that’s okay.

Today, it might just be enough if Thomas doesn’t mind that Harry lays on the other side of the bed for a while, pillow casually over his lap until time and Thomas’ favorite crime show saps some of the painful hardness out of Harry’s own cock. Thomas lets him do that sometimes, if Harry’s been very good. And maybe, because this is the first time Thomas has had to put up with him in a while-

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Thomas said after about thirty seconds of Harry sitting quietly.

Secretly, Harry wonders whether the sound of his heart dropping actually makes a sound. “Oh. Do you not- do you not want me here?”

“You seemed pretty excited when your faggot friend wanted to take you out to lunch,” Thomas said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t you want to go with him?”

“Oh,” Harry says again, though it’s a far cry from what he wants to say. He wants to say _I love you,_ and _I want to kiss you_ and _I’m sorry I’m so disgusting._ But he doesn’t think he’s allowed to say any of those things, so he just nods. “I’ll, um. I’ll just go. Then.”

He is empty and shaking with sadness when he leaves. Thomas is laughing at an advert.

…………………

When his stomach is as full as his overtaxed brain is, Louis grabs his satchel and crosses campus to go to his afternoon class. That in itself is evidence of how persuasive Harry can be; Louis’ sitting in his Learning and Behavioral Psychology lecture for only the second time this semester. He’d gone in the first day, took note of the professor’s powerpoint slides, clarified that she would not be taking attendance, and did not attend a single lecture after that. She was a “read off the slideshow” professor with a timid personality and an annoying habit of asking students to actually answer questions about the chapter during the lecture. In other words, this was not a class Louis needed to actually _attend,_ as long as he downloaded the powerpoint and read the slides before the exams listed on the syllabus.

Yet here he was, sitting in the back row with his legs crossed, hunched forward and curled around a travel mug of tea. He even had a notebook out on the table in front of him, with his name, the date, and a nice title of "notes." The page was pretty bare, only containing a few random definitions, but it was more than he'd done so far this year, so ultimately this was progress. He concentrated on filling it up, because the more brain space that was taken up by classical conditioning, the less room there was for breakdowns of the memory of Harry blushing while some arsehole whispered sweet nothings in his ear.

It wasn’t a particularly _successful_ endeavor, but at least he tried.

He was still lavishing as much attention on his phone as on the professor. Silent mode or not, it took him less than a second to snatch it up when the screen lit up with a new text message.

**_(Harry, 1:25 PM)_ ** _Hey Lou._

**_(Louis, 1:25 PM)_ ** _Hazza! What's up? :)_

**_(Harry, 1:26 PM)_ ** _nothing I guess. Just sitting around the flat._

**_(Louis, 1:27 PM)_ ** _living life to the fullest, I like that. ;)_

**_(Harry, 1:28 PM)_ ** _Haha. Yeah I guess.  
_ **_(Harry, 1:29 PM)_ ** _So. Um. What are you up to?_

**_(Louis, 1:30 PM)_ ** _sat in the world's most idiotic lecture. :(_

**_(Harry, 1:30 PM)_ ** _Sorry, didn't realize you had class. I'll leave you alone_

**_(Louis, 1:31 PM)_ ** _nahhh don't be daft! I don't mind :)_

**_(Harry, 1:34 PM)_ ** _but you said you're in class..._

**_(Louis, 1:35 PM)_ ** _yeah but it's the world's most idiotic lecture. Trust me, if I didn't want to talk to you, or couldn't, I'd let you know. You know that :)_

**_(Harry, 1:36 PM)_ ** _You sure???_

**_(Louis, 1:36 PM)_ ** _positive. I always want to talk to you, H. Especially right now._

**_(Harry, 1:37 PM)_ ** _Why especially?_

**_(Louis, 1:38 PM)_ ** _Because you're upset about something._

**_(Harry, 1:39 PM)_ ** _How'd you know??  
_ **_(Harry, 1:39 PM)_ ** _nevermind, dumb question. You're Louis._

**_(Louis, 1:40 PM)_ ** _And you're an open book, darling. Want to talk about it?_

**_(Harry, 1:41 PM)_ ** _Um. I dunno yet. Maybe not right now._

**_(Louis, 1:42 PM)_ ** _Yeah, of course. Just tell me what I can do for you, babe._

**_(Harry, 1:45 PM)_ ** _Nothing, I don't think. I was gonna see If you were free to hang out but obviously you aren't haha_

**_(Louis, 1:46 PM)_ ** _oh thank god. I've been looking for an excuse to get out of this class for the last 46 minutes._

**_(Harry, 1:47 PM)_ ** _louuuuu. No. You barely go to class as it is, I'm not going to let you skip it just because I’m in a shit mood._

**_(Louis, 1:48 PM)_ ** _You come to me, then._

**_(Harry, 1:49 PM)_ ** _What????_

**_(Louis, 1:50 PM)_ ** _Come sit in class with me. It's one of those big lectures with like 200 people. no one will care if you sit in :)_

**_(Harry, 1:51 PM)_ ** _Wait, are you serious?_

**_(Louis, 1:52 PM)_ ** _As a heart attack. I've got an hour left in this lecture and need a distraction. You're in a sad mood and need to be around someone who cares about you. Is that accurate?_

**_(Harry, 1:53 PM)_ ** _Oh my god. You are NOT doing your psychology thing to me over text._

**_(Louis, 1:54 PM)_ ** _All the more reason for you to come sit in with me :)_  
 **_(Louis, 1:54 PM)_ ** _Building 12, room 1007.  
_ **_(Louis, 1:55 PM)_ ** _I'll be in the back row waiting for you! Chop chop, you're quite late. :)_

Harry never texted to say he was coming. Louis didn't need him to- he knew. When the other boy did finally appear, silently hunching his shoulders against the weight of anyone watching, Louis just smiled at him and pulled out the next chair over. “Glad you came,” he whispered.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

“Yeah, of course I’m sure.”

“You’re not going to get in trouble or anything?”

“Hush up, will you? I’m trying to learn,” Louis teased gently.

He kept taking notes, but only so that he could pretend he wasn’t watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. The texts had made it obvious enough that something was wrong- it wasn’t rocket science to know that a Harry who wrote in short sentences with no emoticons or exclamation points was a Harry that was out of sorts. Just like it wasn’t brain surgery to know that what he needed was just to be around someone who would be gentle with him.

But what he understood less and less as time ticked on was _why_ Harry would be sad. Harry’s reaction back at the shelter had clearly said that Thomas was whispering something dirty to him. And yes, as Louis looked he could find the evidence of sex all over Harry. Mussed hair. Dark lips. That sweaty, musty smell underneath a fresh spritz of cologne.

The only answer about the source of Harry’s poor mood that Louis could come up with was actually just a question: _is Thomas really that unsatisfying?_ Not that he’d ever ask that out loud. He would just keep the quiet (oddly smug) thought to himself and just be the steady presence Harry needed- whatever the reason.

As the class progressed, Louis stopped trying to take notes and just concentrated on listening- which was hard enough in its own right. Harry picked up his abandoned pen and started doodling in the margins of his notes, his eyes continually flicking up to Louis’ face like he expected to be stopped or reprimanded. He wasn’t. Louis grinned as he watched the page fill up with little stick figures and smiley faces with dark-rimmed eyes and snakebites.

The professor gave a sigh so exasperated that even Louis’ attention was demanded. “Anyone? Does no one know how to explain the Opponent-Process Theory?”

“Relationship between alpha process and beta process in neural firing,” Louis mumbled, then yawned. Seriously, what kind of professor expects class participation at a university level?

His arm shifted on the table as Harry nudged it with an elbow. “You should answer, Louis,” he mumbled.

“What? Why? Harry, this is such a stupid class. What’s the point of playing along?”

“So that everyone gets to see how smart you are!”

Louis was going to refuse anyways- who gave a shit whether some random uni students whose names he didn’t know thought he was smart?- but Harry looked so insistent that he couldn’t help but cave. “It’s the relationship between alpha and beta processes in neural firing,” he repeated louder when he raised his hand and the professor gestured to him.

“Can you elaborate?”

“The alpha process is an excitatory response, the beta process is inhibitory. When a stimulus is presented, the alpha process causes a sudden peak in reaction, then the beta process kicks in to bring it down to plateau.”

“And when the stimulus stops?”

“The alpha process stops and the beta process is still in effect, resulting in a temporary state of greater inhibition than before the stimulus.”

The professor actually smiled- the first time that Louis had ever seen her do so. “Obviously _someone_ read the chapter,” she declared. The rest of the class turned around to look and Louis gave a put-upon sigh and fought very hard to resist rolling his eyes.

Harry was beaming, though. “You sounded really, really smart, Lou!”

“Twat. The phrase you’re looking for is ‘you sounded like a twat.’”

The light in Harry’s eyes went undiminished. He hunched over Louis’ notes for a few minutes, and when he returned the page the whole center was covered in a bed of flowers nestling a little poem.

_Roses are red,_  
 _Violets are blue._  
 _You’re really clever,  
_ _And I’m proud of you <3_

Now Louis _did_ roll his eyes, making sure Harry could see. But if anyone was watching, they’d notice the flattered blush creeping up from beneath his neck tattoos. Maybe attending class wasn’t _completely_ useless. Then again, maybe it was only okay when it was Harry.

“Do you have more classes that you need to go to?” Harry asked nervously when everyone was packing up. “Cause I’m- I feel better now. So.”

It’s a lie and they both know it. “Well, I actually have work in a half hour, but… do you want to come there, too? It’s only a two-hour shift.”

“I can’t just follow you around all day, Louis,” Harry says with an embarrassed shake of his head. “Plus, work is different than school, you could get in trouble-”

“I work at a library!” interrupted Louis with a laugh. “It’s a public place. You’re allowed to hang around there for however long you want. And all I ever do is restock shelves and check out books for people, so it’s not like you’re going to distract me from some grandly important task.”

“Are you… are you sure you want me there?”

It’s the easiest question Louis has been asked all week. “Of course. Of course I do. I want you happy and I want you around, which means having you at work with me is the perfect solution.”

“You want me around,” Harry repeats, and it’s hard to say whether he’s really addressing Louis or if it’s strictly for his own benefit. Either way, his face is lit up. “I do really like books.”

“That settles it. Come on, don’t make me late.”

Harry laughs- Louis knew he would- and follows like a happy puppy as Louis leads the way to the campus library. It’s funny how the longer Louis looks, the lighter Harry seems to get. There’s some sort of affect Louis has on him, where just being around him makes him appear more centered, more stable. Happier. And for his part, Louis spends time around Harry and he feels… brighter, better. Stronger.

It’s a little odd. But not in a bad way.

In late September, the library is in the sort of limbo where all of the enthusiasm from the beginning of the semester has worn off, but midterm panic has yet to set in. Most of the people around are simply using the space for a relatively quiet place to use their laptops and eat their lunch- which certainly makes Louis’ job easier.

There’s a cart of books waiting to be reshelved sitting just behind the front desk, which Louis dutifully tugs out. “Wanna help me put these books away?”

“Sure,” Harry says contentedly. “Do you want me to push the cart? I think it weighs more than you do.”

He probably isn’t far off, because Louis is at a 45-degree angle trying to push it up the aisle. Nonetheless, he’s about to turn down the offer anyways because honestly, what kind of friend invites you to their work and then has you do their job?

But Harry doesn’t give him a chance to refuse. He puts one hand on each of Louis’ shoulders and gently tugs him away from the cart, taking his place instead. “Where to?”

“You didn’t have to do that. But. Over there, to the reference section.”

Either Louis is exceptionally weak or Harry is exceptionally strong, because where Louis struggled to move it an inch, Harry is pushing it along like it’s an empty pram. “Well then, superman,” Louis teases, lifting up the short sleeve of Harry’s tee to observe that he _was_ exceptionally built. “Never noticed those lady-killers before.”

The compliment makes Harry glow. “Oh. I work out a lot, so.”

“Do you? Is that a recent thing, or have you always been into it?” Louis reorders some encyclopedias and pretends like he isn’t still on a neverending quest to find out more about what Harry likes.

“Recent, I guess. Since… since Thomas. He suggested that I start training so that I wouldn’t look so scrawny anymore.”

Volume Q-Ri slips from Louis’ hand onto his foot and he lets out an expletive that is far louder than is appropriate for the library. “You started working out because he said you were scrawny?” he asked with his eyes still watering in pain.

“Well, I mean, I thought I was scrawny, too. But. He was the one to point it out, yeah. He was just trying to help me look good, though,” he tacked on, like he knew what Louis was thinking. He probably did- it was written all over Louis’ face.

Louis managed to contain it.  “Well you look well fit now, but I’m sure you were no less handsome before. Just my two cents.”

“But you don’t know what I looked like before-”

“Shhhhh! Excuse me, sir, this is a library. I’m going to need you to keep your bullshit down to a whisper. Or better yet, silent.” Harry’s quiet little snicker makes Louis feel a lot better. “Come on,” he says fondly, “we’ve gotta keep moving. These books aren’t going to shelve themselves.”

It winds up that Harry does more work than Louis- which was never Louis’ intention, just Harry’s insistence. He’s stronger, so he pushes the cart. He’s taller, so he listens patiently to Louis’ instructions on where the top-shelf books belonged. And then sort of the rest of the shelves, too. And maybe by the time the cart is half-empty, Louis is perched atop it like a queen on a sedan, guiding Harry up and down the rows, teaching him all kinds of useless facts about the Dewey Decimal System while his job is done for him.

When the cart is empty of everything but Louis and Harry has wheeled him back to the front desk, the clock says that it’s already the end of Louis’ shift. He doesn’t point out to Harry that he normally would have taken twice as long to push that cart around and do all that. The kid might get ideas that he was _right_ or something.

“How you feeling?” Louis asks lightly when they’re exiting the building.

“I’m good, you?”

“I meant _really,_ Harry. You were upset. Are you feeling better now?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it yet? No pressure. Just an offer.”

Harry mulls it over. Shrugs. Keeps his eyes on the ground. “Just felt sad, I guess. Lonely.”

“Did something happen with Thomas?”

“Sort of,” he replies with a wince. “I don’t- I don’t think I want to talk about it yet, though. If that’s okay.”

“Of course, yeah. I’m never going to push you to talk about something you’re not ready to, okay? That’s not at all what I want. I just want you to feel better, period. If that’s through talking, I’m here to listen. If it’s not… well, I’m here to force you into slave labor, I guess.”

For once, Harry doesn’t take the bait and laugh. He’s too busy looking up at Louis with soft eyes. “You really mean that. About just wanting me to feel better, no matter what.”

It isn’t a question. “I do,” Louis answers anyways.

He saw the hug coming even before Harry stopped him and tugged him into a bone-crushing, gentle hug. “Thank you, Lou,” he simply says.

Louis just squeezes back just as tightly, and that really says it all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: homophobia, internalized homophobia, homophobic language, emotional abuse, harry crying

“How do you even pass any of your classes?” Zayn asked with a sideways look at Louis, who was no longer even looking at the textbook before him. “It’s midterms, man, shouldn’t you be trying a little harder?”

“This is me trying,” Louis smoothly replied. “This is the first time I’ve deliberately studied in about two years.”

“And you’re actually doing alright in your classes?”

“Well. I’m not failing, anyways.” _Barely._

Zayn snorts with enough disdain that Louis notices but not enough that it’s worth the fight. Instead, he reaches forward and makes a show of turning the page. Harry watches the exchange with a grin that he tries and fails to hide.

“You promised you’d study,” he reminded Louis, then reached out to grab his wrist. Louis’ hand fell open, surprised, and Harry curled the thin fingers around a highlighter. “Please?”

It was hard to resist a smile like that, but Louis gave it his best. “You’re always telling me how smart I am. Shouldn’t I just _know_ the answers?”

“You’re brilliant,” Harry affirmed, “but your GPA tells me that whatever you’re doing now isn’t working for you. So. Highlight the keywords or something, yeah?”

Louis rolled his eyes and snorted, but bit the cap off the highlighter and started scanning for bold words anyways. _Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Borderline Personality Disorder. Antisocial Personality Disorder._ He was just about to interrogate Harry about how exactly highlighting things was going to boost his grade when a knock sounded at the door. “Harry, you minx!” he exclaimed with a grin. “And you said pizza was too unhealthy for a study snack. Way to play coy, I honestly thought you were serious.”

But Harry wasn’t blushing under the weight of Louis’ compliments as usual. He looked confused as he glanced between the door and Zayn. “I didn’t order anything,” he mumbled. “Did you?”

“Nah, man.”

Disappointed more than he’d let on that there would not, in fact, be junk food at this study session after all, Louis raised a curious eyebrow at the door. “Are we expecting anyone else?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said very seriously, and rose from his seat with joints popping from disuse. “I’ll grab it,” he said as a second burst of knocks rang out.

Louis heard Thomas before he saw him. Harry didn’t even get a chance to speak before he was being brushed past with a curt, “I need to talk to you. Now.” The words made Louis’ head snap around to take in the sight of Thomas’ flushed face and Harry’s nervous one.

“Oh,” Harry said softly, taken aback. “O-okay. Um. I was just studying. With Zayn and Louis.”

At that, Thomas stopped and glanced around, taking in the piles of textbooks and the two boys on the couch. A poorly-disguised half sneer came over his face before he looked away. “I need to talk to you,” he repeated. “Alone.”

It was obvious that Harry was unsure whether he was supposed to kick Zayn and Louis out to please Thomas or to let them stay and not be rude. Luckily, Zayn blinked lazily at the couple and made the decision for him. “No worries. Louis and I won’t mind a bit if you need to step out for a minute.”

Louis might have laughed at the look of affront on Thomas’ face, if it weren’t for the fact that he was too busy watching Harry. The boy was wilting before his eyes, fading as he visibly fretted over the angry man beside him. “We could go on the balcony,” Harry suggested quietly, rubbing his palms nervously over the thighs of his jeans.

Thomas huffed but strode towards the sliding door, leaving Harry to trip along in his wake like a baby deer on starled, trembling legs. No one said a word as the two slipped out, Harry pulling the door to even as the slats half-covering the glass swung from the disturbance.

“I don’t like this,” confessed Zayn suddenly, his eyes narrow. Louis glanced him up and down, taking in the white of his knuckles on his textbook and the energetic bounce of his knee. “Haz is about to piss himself.”

“It’s because Thomas is angry about something, I think. Should we be worried? D’you think?” Louis swallowed a little, telling his stomach not to flip-flop like that.

Zayn didn’t answer, which was sort of answer enough.

…………………

“Is um- is everything okay?” Harry asked, trying to sound like there wasn’t a lump in his throat big enough to choke on.

“What do you think?” asked Thomas witheringly. “Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

Harry winced. “What’s wrong? Did I- was it something I did?” Because this was more than just the grumpy mood that sometimes came over Thomas. This was anger, and it seemed to be aimed right at Harry. He wanted to shrink into the concrete patio.

“I don’t know, was it?” Thomas asked, throwing up a hand in exasperation. “You’re going to have to tell me.”

“I don’t- I don’t understand what’s wrong-”

“I got called a fag today, Harry. A _fag.”_

The word made Harry wince, his heart steady sinking. “But you’re not- why would someone say that about you?”

Thomas crossed his arms and faced Harry down squarely, confrontationally. “Have you been talking shit about me?”

“What?” Harry gasped. “I wouldn’t- Thomas, you know I would _never-”_

“Well I don’t have any other fucking explanations,” Thomas spat back, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “You’ve been telling people that I let you suck me off, you stupid little-”

There were tears already perched in Harry’s eyes, just waiting for an excuse to fall. He willed them to evaporate. “Please, you have to believe me. I would never say anything to anyone, I know that you’re not- you asked me not to say anything, and I _never would,_ please.”

“I’m nice to you. I let you suck my cock every time you want to, because I’m a good person.” The words Thomas didn’t say fell into the space between them. _And you’re not._

“I know you are. You so are. You’re so good to me, and I would never.”

“If someone let you suck their dick for it, you would. God, you’re such a _slut.”_

It hits Harry like a suckerpunch and startles the tears right out of him. Then he can’t stop it, tears rolling down his face one after the other as little gasping sobs pushed their way out of his lips. He tried to hide his face in his elbow, like he could disappear enough to not have to face the truth. _He’s right. You’re a slut. This is your fault. If anyone ever found out- god, you’ve hurt Thomas. You’re so fucking_ stupid. _You can’t do anything right. You’re going to ruin him-_

“Look at me. I said _look_ at me,” Thomas insisted, grabbing Harry’s forearm to yank it away from his face. “Look me in the fucking eye. Have you told anyone about what I let you do?”

Everything was swimming, but Harry did his best to show how earnest he was. “I didn’t. Never. I promise you. Please,” he added, in case that made a difference.

Thomas just tossed Harry’s arm away and shook his head. “Just keep your fucking mouth shut, okay?” And before Harry could even beg his innocence one more time, he was slipping back through the sliding door, through the flat, and away from Harry as fast as he could go.

The silence in his absence only made the catches in Harry’s breath sound louder as he sank to the concrete and disappeared into his sleeve once again.

…………………

Louis couldn’t bring himself to tear his eyes from what little of the scene on the balcony he could see. Through the slats of the blinds he watched as Harry stood with his back to the door, somehow managing to look small despite the way he was several inches taller than the boy across from him. Thomas’ face was pinched in anger, eyes sharp and piercing as they looked up at Harry.

He didn’t even need to hear what was being said; the situation was spelled out in the lines of Harry’s hunched shoulders, in the vein at Thomas’ temple, in the quick, brusque shapes that his mouth made around the words he was throwing at Harry. That alone was enough to have Louis’ body buzzing as he stared out the window. _You can’t referee this one, Louis. Keep your nose out. It isn’t your business. It isn’t your place-_

“I fucking hate him,” Zayn said suddenly, earning a surprised blink from Louis. “I don’t care what he’s pissed about, he doesn’t have to be a dick to Harry like that. Kid’s scared shitless and he doesn’t even care.”

The agreement on Louis’ lips got lost in a sharp exhale when Thomas’ hand shot out and grabbed Harry’s arm, wrenching it away from where he’d buried his face in his elbow. “He’s got about ten seconds to let go of Harry before I go out there and break his fingers,” Louis commented with a scowl.

Zayn gave one humorless bark of laughter. “What happened to Mr. Cool, Calm, Collected Counselor?”

“I make exceptions for people who put their hands on other people when angry.”

There was maybe a little less disdain for Louis in Zayn’s eyes when he looked at him next. “Me too.”

“Has it been ten seconds yet?”

Maybe it had, because just like that Thomas was pushing Harry’s arm away and shoving past him towards the door. A hundred words formed and died in Louis tongue as he sewed his mouth shut with sheer willpower. Thomas didn’t even look at the boys on the couch when he stormed through the flat and out the front door with a slam to mark his exit.

Seconds ticked by in silence. Harry had slid down the railing, out of sight behind the little table furnishing the deck, and Louis was running out of reasons not to barge out there and scoop him up in his arms.

“Should we go out there?” he asked quietly, when he couldn’t be silent anymore. “See if he’s okay?”

“He isn’t,” replied Zayn. “But he hates for anyone to see him cry.”

Which was almost enough to make Louis jump up right then and there, but there was something in the calm assuredness of Zayn’s voice that held him in his seat. “Guess we’ll give him a minute, then.”

“Yeah.”  Zayn clears his throat. “I guess I could have been wrong about you.”

The change of subject leaves Louis’ brain reeling. “What?”

“You might not be a dick. Or, you might not be a _total_ dick. I guess.”

“Oh. Well, I try not to be. So. Thanks? I guess.”

“No problem, mate. Anyone that wants to break Thomas’ fingers is alright with me in the end,” Zayn said simply.

And that was it. They sat quietly for a few more minutes, waiting and trying to pretend like they weren’t both doing mental calculations about how soon was too soon to take care of their friend.

Eventually, the screen door slides open and comes a red-eyed, shiny-faced Harry. “I don’t see any highlighting going on,” he chirps, voice just a tad higher than it should have been.

Louis dug around in the dust-filled corner of his mind where ‘tact’ was stored. “Everything alright with Tommy boy?” he says ever-so-casually.

Harry has to sniff once before he can give a faux-flippant, “Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. Just had, um, a bad day. That’s all.”

And you didn’t have to be a psychologist to pick out _that_ lie, but three years of school have at least taught Louis when not to push. So he chokes down all of his questions, nods, and prepares to spend the rest of the day pretending to highlight things, if it would make Harry happy.

Zayn, however, was not so easily deterred. “A bad day?”

 _Drop it, Zayn,_ Louis wants to snap. But there are already too many harsh voices in Harry’s head. He tries for gentler. “Yeah, happens to the best of us-”

“He has a bad day so he comes to scare the piss out of you?” Zayn interrupts. “Nice fucking guy.”

Harry’s broken heart is written all over his face. “Zayn, don’t- don’t say that. He’s not…”

“Yeah, alright, okay,” Zayn sighs, rubbing his hands over his face with the tiniest shake of his head. “I can’t- I’m going out for a smoke. I’ll be back.”

When the door slams for the second time in ten minutes, Harry looks like he’s about to cry again. “Thomas isn’t a bad person,” he mumbles, to himself or to Louis or maybe to the air around him.

It’s either the red rimming Harry’s eyes or the quiver of his bottom lip that makes Louis crack. “Come here, babe,” he says softly, holding out his arms to the trembling boy.  
  
“Wh-what?” Harry asks, surprised, looking at Louis like he’s never been offered a hug before.

“Come here,” repeats Louis firmly, beckoning with his hands. “You can try telling me that you don’t need a good cuddle, but remember that I’m really good at reading minds, so. Seriously, babe, it’s alright. Come here.”

That’s all it takes to convince Harry. He’s by Louis’ side on the couch in an instant, knees pulled up to his chin and head resting on the older boy’s collarbone. One of Louis’ hands starts making circles on Harry’s back while the other rests on soft curls, and one of Harry’s own fists finds itself tangled in the cotton of Louis’ shirt. From this close, the quiet stutter of Harry’s breath is as clear as could be.

There are at least a dozen questions that Louis could be asking right now. A laundry list of important items that need discussing so that he can get down to the part of Harry that needed healing. Louis choked them all down. Harry didn’t need a counselor tonight, he needed a friend.

And sometimes, friends don’t have to say anything; Louis just sat and rubbed his circles into Harry’s shoulders, like he could massage the hurt right out of him. “You’re alright, kid,” he said fondly when Harry shuddered and Louis’ shirt got a little damp. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

Finally, barely above a breath, Harry confessed, “He yelled at me.”

“Yeah, I figured. We could- well, we saw a bit, anyways. Sorry.”

“‘s alright.”

“Were you fighting about something?”

Around the mass of curls, Louis watched Harry bite his lips even pinker than normal. “N- not exactly.”

“That’s good, then?” Louis guessed. “It always sucks fighting with your- with someone you care about.”

“He’s… mad at me.”

“Why’s that, darling? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s my fault, anyways.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone called him a… um. An f-word. Not the one that rhymes with truck. The other one.”

“Yeah, I know the one,” Louis winces. “How’s it your fault, though? You would never call anyone that, you’re a sweetheart.”

“Well no, but- it’s my fault someone called him that.” Harry’s hand on Louis’ chest is playing with the fabric there, rolling it distractedly between his fingertips. “Thomas thought I’d told someone about us.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not!” Harry’s whole body stiffened, and Louis had to make his circles wider and firmer before Harry would relax against him again. “Someone probably saw us together or something. And everyone knows I’m that. So.”

“I thought you guys never went out in public though?” Louis asked gently, careful not to offend again. “It was probably just someone being a jerk. I’m sure it had nothing to do with you, Haz.”

“Maybe.” One shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “But. What if someone _did_ find out, though? They’d think he was gay and it would all be my fault.”

It takes a lot of concentration for Louis’ hands to stay steady. “What do you mean? Thomas isn’t gay?”

“Of course not,” Harry said, body going still. “Why would you think that?”

Louis keeps blinking, searching for an answer that he’s apparently missing but only finding blank confusion. “I thought you said that you two were together, but he wasn’t out?”

“We’re not _together_ together. I mean, we are, kind of, but not- he’s not- he isn’t gay, okay?” Harry sits up sharply, and Louis hands fall awkwardly back into his lap.

“Alright, yeah, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Louis soothes, though he’s not quite sure why soothing is needed. “I was just trying to understand.”

“Not everything has an answer, okay? Sexuality’s complicated.”

Harry has a wild, almost panicked look in eyes that hides just behind his earnestness and has Louis resigning whatever fight was left in him instantly. “Absolutely, Harry. You’re right. It’s none of my business. Okay? It’s alright, I promise.” Louis hand found Harry’s shoulder and gently tugged him back to his chest, rubbing his hand up and down a still-tense waist as he tried to project the calmest thoughts he could. _I’m sorry. You’re alright. I’m here. You’re alright._

Zayn comes in not long after that, and if he thinks it’s odd that Harry’s curled into Louis he doesn’t say a single thing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: sits back and waits for the slew of angry commentary with a gleeful expression


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: the usual (homophobia, homophobic language, internalized homophobia, hate language, emotional abuse), but also special emphasis and a new paragraph for-
> 
> This chapter contains a scene of **DUBIOUS CONSENT/RAPE.** If anyone would like to see a version without this part written in detail, it can be found **[here](http://canonlarry.tumblr.com/post/88307270005/chapter-7-give-me-truths-censored-version)** on my tumblr. Please be safe! I don't want anyone getting unnecessarily triggered, yeah? :)

It was a whole week until Louis managed to drag Harry out of his flat. Who knew midterms were actually important to people? Harry still answered his calls and texts without fail, and he always seemed delighted when Louis came to sit with him while he studied, but after the fifth offer of a study break was shot down with firm denial and puppydog eyes, Louis had given up. He twiddled his thumbs around his dorm room and Harry’s flat, passed his midterms with solid C’s, and waited (relatively) patiently for Harry to be free once again.

Louis was waiting on the couch in Harry’s flat when he returned from his final exam. “Hi, Lou,” Harry drawled, appearing unconcerned that someone who didn’t live there was sitting upside down with his feet over the back of the couch and his head hanging off as he watched the telly. “You been waiting long?”

“Nah, only about fifteen minutes. I showed up just as Zayn was heading out. He said I could wait here for you.” Louis mustered up all of his grace and managed to right himself without kicking over a lamp, enjoying the sudden pounding of his pulse in his ears. “Not a terribly exciting match,” he explained.

“Guess what?” Harry was grinning from ear to ear, his hands clasped behind his back as he rocked up onto his tippy-toes and back over and over again.

“You’ve cured cancer?”

“N-no?”

“Solved world hunger?”

“Uh. No.”

“Negotiated peace among the nations?”

“Louis. Stop,” giggled Harry. “You already know. You’ve only been nagging at me for a week about it!”

“Have you finished your exams, then?”

“Yes!”

“Then it’s even better than I expected!” declared Louis, jumping up to give Harry a high five that was enthusiastically received. “You’ve been working so hard this week. I’m proud of you, kid.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks mum.”

“Oh please. Friends can’t be proud of friends? I think it’s perfectly reasonable. _Especially_ considering that you’re succeeding where I stubbornly fail.”

“Stubbornly is right,” mumbled Harry with a smirk.

“How about you shut up or I won’t take you out to celebrate like I had planned, yeah?”

“Where are we going at 3:00 on a Thursday afternoon?”

“Food,” declared Louis immediately. “Always food.”

“What about that place we were going to go to a few weeks ago? The new place a few streets down from your dorm?”

It would take a microscope to see the way Louis’ smile flickered, but he was painfully aware of remembering the circumstances of their last attempted lunch date. Last time, when Harry had returned looking definitely fucked and definitely sad, crestfallen and empty and desperate to hear that he was wanted and appreciated.

“That sounds great,” he simply replied when he’s banished that image of Harry from his head. “You wanna walk, or shall I drive?”

“If we walk, are you going to complain the whole time?”

“Probably.”

“Then we’re driving, please,” Harry snorted.

Louis ordered the biggest burger they had, and only rolled his eyes a little when Harry ordered a grilled chicken wrap. “What is it with you and health food?” Louis asked around a mouthful of chips. “You’re nineteen. Aren’t you supposed to live off of pizza and beer?”

“You’re twenty-one. Shouldn’t you have _stopped_ living off of pizza and beer?”

It earns him a fry to the face. “Seriously, though. Is this another-”

“Another what?” Harry prompts when Louis leaves the sentence unfinished.

“Another Thomas thing,” Louis answers quietly. He knows he shouldn’t. He does anyways.

Mercifully, though, Harry seems undisturbed. “No, I’ve always liked eating healthy stuff. I think that’s why I was always really scrawny, maybe? I dunno. But I just think that like, when you eat good, you feel good. So I don’t really eat stuff that’s bad for you very much. Because then my body will feel bad. Does that make sense?”

Louis is just about to outline his personal experiences with eating only junk food and feeling absolutely fine when Harry’s eyes get wide and his face goes pale. “Harry? You alright, mate?”

“Is that- is that _Thomas?”_

He follows Harry’s gaze to somewhere behind him, twisting around in his seat until he’s peering over the back of the booth. None of the faces are more than vaguely familiar, people he’s seen around campus maybe- until he gets to the tall blonde man leaning against the counter at the bar. There’s no mistaking that ultra-mainstream wardrobe: it’s Thomas.

Which is odd, because the way he’s running his hands through his hair and winking at the girl bartending is not what Louis would expect from a guy who’s in any sort of quasi-relationship with another man. And the way the bartender is biting her lip and giving more attention to Thomas than the martini she’s mixing doesn’t fit with how someone who gets hit on all day would react to a stranger paying her a compliment.

It gives Louis a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Get down, we can’t both be staring,” he hisses at Harry.

“Why don’t you get down, then?” Harry pouts, even as he moves to obey.

“Because I see about five times more than you do, and that’s without my glasses on.” _Because I don’t want to see your heart break._

“What are they doing?”

“Talking.” The bartender has finished attending to the customers and is focusing on Thomas now. She’s got her face displayed on the platter of her hands, head tilted and eyes bright. Apparently he isn’t there to buy a drink, since the counter before him is empty and she’s not moving to get him anything.

“Talking. Right. Friends talk. They’re just friends, right?”

Louis doesn’t answer, because he can’t stand to lie to Harry and he can’t stand to tell him the truth, either. He’s not sure that young lad fretting across the table from him is ready to hear about how body language is more honest than any words and how Thomas and this girl’s bodies are screaming about an established and cozy relationship. Or maybe Harry _is_ ready to hear it, but Louis is most definitely not ready to share.

Apparently, the silence is not answer enough. “Of course they’re just friends,” Harry says shakily. “What am I hiding in a booth for? Thomas is talking to a friend, I don’t have to sneak around and spy on him,” he declared as he shifted himself upright and looked to the bar with his head held defiantly high.

Which was absolutely the most unfortunate thing he could have done, because just as the duo at the bar came into Harry’s view, he got to see them lean across the bar with smiles on their faces and lock lips in a way that was definitely not _just friends._

Louis looks away in time enough to watch Harry’s world crumble. At first, disbelief. A flash of anger. Then hurt. Finally, chillingly, the dead calm of acceptance.

It’s like watching someone die in an instant. Louis wonders if it was a part of Harry that he’ll never get back.

“Harry,” Louis said slowly, gently. “Are you alright? Don’t look, darling, you’ll make yourself upset.”

“He’s already gone anyways,” replies Harry. His voice is rough with emotion. “Just kissed her and left. _Kissed_ her, before he went. He’s not like that with me. He doesn’t-”

“Doesn’t what?”

Harry looks at Louis like he’s forgotten he was even there. “He doesn’t kiss me before he goes,” came the quiet reply. “But he kissed her.”

It’s hard for Louis to keep the pity that twists his heart off of his face when he looks at the tears welling in Harry’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, babe, you shouldn’t have had to see that-”

“What did I do wrong?”

“What?”

“What did I do wrong?” Harry repeated sadly. “I knew that I was never good enough, but he didn’t even- he never said- he _kisses her,_ Lou.”

“Did you- I mean, had you ever talked about whether you guys were monogamous or not?” asked Louis desperately, grasping at straws in search of a way to save this. “Maybe he just doesn’t realize that you’ve set a boundary there-”

“We’re not even in a proper relationship,” Harry all but wails. “He’s not even- why am I so stupid?” His head falls to the table with a thud, where he covers it with his arms and tries valiantly to control the way his shoulders shake with silent tears.

“Oh, come on, love, it’s alright. You’re not stupid,” Louis soothes as he moves around the table to scoot in next to Harry. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I never even, like- we’re not even really dating. But it really hurts me to see him kissing someone else. But it shouldn’t though, right? You can’t be- you can’t be _cheated on_ if you’re not even dating them.”

“Being upset doesn’t make you stupid.” Louis rubs Harry’s back gently, just enough to let him know he’s there. “Your relationship with Thomas is… unique, yeah. But just because you’re not _dating_ doesn’t mean you’re impervious to hurt. I mean, obviously you have some strong feelings for Thomas-”

“I _love_ him, Louis.”

It’s the one word Louis was hoping not to hear. Not after all of the red flags, all of the bad feelings… to hear that Thomas was not some schoolboy crush to Harry, but that this was someone he genuinely _loved…_ all of the ways in which this was destined to end badly were laid out before Louis’ expert eyes.

But that was for another day. For now, Louis was on damage control. “You’re allowed to be hurt, alright?” he said softly. “You’re allowed to feel upset. But I think- I think if you want to fix this, you’re going to have to talk to Thomas.”

_Sniffle_. “Talk about what?”

“About how this has hurt you, and how you don’t think you’re being treated quite fairly. Just be honest with him, and let him be honest with you, too.”

“You think that will help?”

_Given the way he seems to think you’re subhuman? Unlikely._ “I think that if both parties are interested in making things better, having a DTR never hurts.”

“A what?”

“A DTR. Stands for ‘Define The Relationship.’ Basically fancy psychology jargon for talking to someone about boundaries and labels and how you feel about the relationship. You clear the water, and you feel better afterwards because everyone’s on the same page.”

Harry’s head moves to the side just enough to let Louis catch a glimpse of one teary green eye through the mess of curls. “I would like to be on the same page as Thomas, I think. That sounds… better.”

“Good, yeah,” says Louis, relieved at least that Harry’s decided he can face the world again. “Like I said, as long as you’re both interested in improving your situation, things can only get better.”

That seems to solidify it for Harry. He sits up and wipes the last of his tears away with the sleeve of his jumper. “Okay. I’m going to talk to him. I’m going to have a- a DTR.”

“Now?”

“Maybe later,” he says quietly. “I still feel a little bit sick.”

Louis gives him a one-armed hug and a quick peck to the side of his head. “Of course. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Harry allows himself to be escorted to the car and sits in a slightly somber silence for the short ride back to his flat. Zayn is there when they walk in. “Hey guys,” he says when he looks up from his sketchbook. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” Harry lies. “I, um- I think I’m going to go lie down, actually. If that’s alright?” He doesn’t wait for a reply before slipping into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Zayn’s eyes fluttered back and forth between Louis and the door. “What’s going on?” he asked under his breath. “Is Harry alright?”

He probably shouldn’t say anything, but Louis figured that Harry would tell Zayn as soon as he felt up to it anyways. Besides, he wasn’t always going to be around to take care of Harry. Someone else ought to know.

“We went out to grab some food and Harry and I saw Thomas kissing some girl at the bar,” he confessed all at once as he sat next to Zayn on the couch. “Harry’s pretty busted up about it, to be honest.”

“Are you serious?” Zayn’s gaze darkened as he tossed his pencil down on the table and rubbed his hands over his face. “Please tell me he’s breaking up with that arsehole now.”

“He’s going to talk it out with him, actually.”

“Fantastic,” Zayn groaned. “I love Harry to death, I do, but he’s kind of an idiot when it comes to Thomas. Can he not see how incredibly… _wrong_ that whole relationship is?”

Louis paused for a moment to look Zayn over more carefully than he’d ever done before. “Why do you hate Thomas so much?” he asked quietly.

“You’ve got to be joking. He’s jerking Haz around, says he’s not gay and looks at you like shit if you are, is always scaring Haz and making him feel bad over stupid shit-”

“That’s why you have a strong dislike for him,” corrected Louis. “I have a strong dislike for him. Hell, I think anyone who meets Thomas has a strong dislike for him. But you… you _hate_ him. It runs deep for you. I want to know why.”

“I’m not sure I can explain it the way I want to,” Zayn says slowly. “I’m not really all that great with words. Can I- can I show you? Instead?”

Blinking in surprise, Louis manages a quiet, “Oh. Sure.” He doesn’t understand what Zayn means until he reaches into the drawer beneath the TV stand and pulls out a stack of sketchbooks. “Is it something that you’ve drawn?”

“Yeah. Well, more like a series of things. Let me see if I can find…” He flips through the pages of one of the most worn books, thumbing past images of animals and people and scenery. Louis tries to appreciate each image as it flashes by, the talent in every line apparent even at a second’s glance. “Ah, here,” Zayn finally declares.

It was Harry- that much was apparent from the second the page opened. But this was not like any side of Harry that Louis had ever seen. There in lines of ink and color was a Harry that was bright-eyed and unabashed, a crown of flowers adorning curls that were as wild as his smile. Everything about him, from the dimples in his cheeks to the shine in his eyes, felt like an exhale, a cool breeze, a laugh. He was stunning.

“I drew this of Harry when we were still in secondary school,” Zayn explained quietly. “This is how he always was, back then. Really… alive, I guess. And always happy. You know? I don’t think I was even able to capture it all the way.”

“I think I understand. He’s… different, now.”

“Some of it’s growing up, I know. I mean, this was three years ago. He’s not going to be the same as he was. But… this is Harry. _That,”_ he pointed to the bedroom door, “is not Harry. Or at least- less of him. I don’t know.”

Louis has the feeling that he knows the answer, but he asks the question anyway. “When did it happen? The change?”

Zayn’s response brings them to another sketchbook, slightly less worn. “This is from right after we started college,” he explained, showing Louis another sketch. There was still some of that wildness in his eyes, but it was a little more mature. Like maybe his idea of wild was traveling the world with no plans, instead of running through a field and singing at the top of his lungs.

They didn’t linger on that page for long. Another notebook, another sketch, and this time the difference was dramatic. There was no wildness left. Somehow, the smile Harry wore expressed the _potential_ for joy, but… that joy was missing. He was Harry Contained, like the outside had been done up in hard, shiny plastic to keep in any brightness that once might have burst forth. The boy that Zayn called the real Harry was in there, maybe… but he was too far gone to see.

“When did you draw this, Zayn?” Louis asked. He has to clear his throat several times before it comes out with any sound attached.

“That was right after he came out to Thomas. It was- that was a bad time for Harry. The worst, actually.”

“What happened?”

Zayn sighed. “I guess I always knew that Harry was gay. Maybe it was because I’m gay, or because I’m his best friend, but… I came out in secondary school, and even then I knew. But Harry didn’t, not until college. He never dated around any, but in college he started thinking about it and stuff, and… well, you know how it goes. It just feels right. And Harry felt right about it.”

“How did he come out?”

“To me, first. I expected that he would have questions about it or something, but he seemed really chill about it. Really sure, you know? And of course I was supportive. His family, too. They’re good people, and his mum and his sister both took it well. I think maybe they knew, too.”

That makes Louis smile. “The smart ones always know before you do.”

“I guess so. Anyways, everything was really great, except then he started wanting to come out to more people. And not everyone is so…”

“Accepting. Yeah.”

“So when he started telling friends… well, it was mainly Thomas. And Thomas just flipped. I mean, went berserk. Wouldn’t talk to Harry for like six months. Harry didn’t… take it very well. I was worried about him for a while.”

Louis’ heart wrenches, partly because he’s no stranger to losing friends over who you love and partly because there’s absolutely nothing he can do to reach back in time and take care of Harry then. “What was he like?”

“Miserable all the time. I don’t think- I don’t know that he was ever, like, suicidal. But. I think that he was still so new to accepting himself that having someone important to him shutting him down like that was more than he could take.”

“What happened then?”

“I’m not really sure. Harry had just turned 19, and all of a sudden Thomas reappears in his life, starts hanging out with Harry. But it was still wrong. Something was still off.” Zayn stops, takes a few deep breaths. “You know how you can just look at someone and tell that they’re hateful? That’s what I saw when I looked at Thomas. But Harry never… he never _got_ that.”

“Harry doesn’t strike me as the type to see the bad in _anyone,_ let alone a friend,” Louis mused sadly. “But how did they wind up- you know, together?”

Zayn gave a snort. “Is that what they are? I’ve never understood them. But that’s the way it’s always been for them. Thomas isn’t gay, and they aren’t in a relationship, but at the same time… Harry’s in love with him. Like absolutely in love with him. And the longer he stays with Thomas, the more he hates himself.” Louis watches and Zayn looks right up at him, brown eyes meeting blue with a plea. “Explain to me how that works. How you can love someone and it makes you hate yourself.”

“It isn’t supposed to work that way,” is all Louis can offer.

“No, it’s not.”

They sit in silence for a few long minutes, each trying to breathe under the enormous weight they shared beneath their shoulders. Louis knew there was probably something he ought to say, but he couldn’t find a single word. How do you follow up the story of how a boy loses himself?

Finally, Zayn speaks, a sad, quiet mumble. “So I guess that’s why I hate him. Thomas, I mean. He destroyed my best friend.”

The words keep echoing in Louis head as he makes his exit a while later, tucking Zayn’s promise to take care of Harry into his heart to keep him warm. _He destroyed my best friend. He destroyed my best friend. Destroyed. Destroyed. Destroyed._

…………………

It took a few hours of Harry dozing and thinking and just focusing on being calm before he was ready to do what needed to be done. The flat had been quiet all afternoon, and when he emerged, he saw only Zayn sitting quietly as he flicked through a textbook.

"Where's Louis?"

Zayn's head snapped up in surprise. "Harry, hey, he breathed in release. "Y'alright? Louis had to go to work, said to tell you he was sorry. You need something?"

"Huh? No, I'm fine," Harry mumbled. "I'm going to go to Thomas' flat to have a talk with him really quick. We um, have to talk about some important stuff."

"Louis told me about what you saw. At the restaurant."

"Oh."

"And I'm really sorry. And I mean that, okay? You know I don't like Thomas, but I really am sorry that this happened."

Harry takes in Zayn's guilty expression with a sad smile. "I know. And- thanks."

"I hope you feel better, babe."

"Me too," answers Harry as he makes his way out into the cold. He could have asked Zayn for a ride to Thomas' flat, but he likes the feel of the brisk air on his cheeks. It makes him feel stronger, more awake. Like maybe this isn't such a huge deal, in the grander scope of a world that spins on with seasons changing, regardless of the state of his slowly breaking heart.

He texts Thomas when he's outside of the building.

**_(Harry, 8:02 PM)_ ** _Downstairs. Can I come up for a min? Want to talk to you really quick._

**_(Thomas, 8:11 PM)_ ** _yeah, sure, whatever_

No matter how calming the existential acknowledgement of his own relative importance was, Harry's hands were still shaking when he entered the flat. Thomas was sitting at his desk, sandwich and cup of tea half-finished before him. "Hey," he said naturally. "What's up?"

"Nothing much. Just needed to talk to you for a minute."

"Yeah, that's what your text said. Did you have something in mind, or were you just bored and decided to bother me for a chat?"

"No, no, I just wanted to ask about- well, I saw you today. At that burger place."

"Oh."

"And you were... um, you were kissing someone. A girl. At the bar."

"Yeah.

"And I guess I was just wondering, um, why." By the end of the sentence, Harry's voice has faded down to almost nothing. The patch of carpet he's staring at doesn't offer a whole lot of help.

Thomas doesn't seem concerned at all. "Oh, me and her have a thing going."

"A- a thing?"

"Yeah. We're an item, I guess."

"Oh."

"Is that a problem?" Thomas asked sharply, his tone changing as he noticed the look of distress on Harry's face.

"I think- well I mean I guess I just kind of wanted to talk about it. Because like. It made me feel weird. To see that. And I wanted us to be on the same page about it," Harry tried to explain. The words were coming out not at all how he wanted. It had sounded so _simple_ when Louis had said it...

“Oh my god. Don’t make this fucking weird, okay?” Thomas sighed, crossing his arms. “I don’t want to sit here and talk about our feelings when there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Well- you don’t have to talk, I guess,” Harry said hesitantly. “But I need to. Can you- can you listen for a second? Just a second, I promise.”

The frown on Thomas’ face made it seem like listening to Harry was the biggest chore he’d ever been asked to do, but he shrugged. “Alright. Go on, then.”

Harry stands in the middle of the living room and keeps his eyes on the ground. Maybe, he thinks absently, if he stares at the carpet hard enough it will open up and swallow him whole. The words threaten to get caught in his chest, but he pushes them out anyways. “I don’t think that you’re fair to me. Sometimes.”

“Fair?”

“Yeah. Like. I dunno, I feel like things are unequal. I always try to be open, but you shut me out. And I- I feel like I give a lot to you, and you never give anything back.”

Quiet falls and Harry starts wondering if this was all a mistake, if Louis was wrong about him talking to Thomas about this, if he should have just kept his stupid thoughts to himself-

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

When he has the willpower to make himself look up, Harry sees Thomas’ face arranged into a mask of anger. “I didn’t- I just-”

“You’ve got to be joking,” interrupts Thomas with a humorless laugh. _“You’re_ the one giving to _me?_ Jesus christ, Harry, I’m the one who lets you suck my cock all the time. You think I like that? You think I should do that to you, too, just because you feel like things are ‘unequal?’ You act like this is some privilege that you’ve given me that now you’re taking away. Don’t get it twisted, Harry, don’t be fucking stupid.”

"I'm sorry, I just- I just wanted you to know how I felt-"

"And what about how I feel? Huh? I let you do all of this stuff to me, out of the _goodness of my heart,_ and all I get is ungratefulness. Like that time last week when I tried to text you to say you could come over and you didn't text me back for four hours. Because you were hanging out with that stupid _Louis_ of yours."

“It wasn’t Louis’ fault,” Harry rushed to defend. “It was all mine. I’m sorry, I should have thought to bring my charger since I knew I’d be with Louis all afternoon...”

“Or, here’s a novel thought, maybe you could stop hanging out with him?” snapped Thomas. “All the fucking time, Louis Louis Louis. I don’t get why you’re so enamored.”

“I’m- I’m not enamored.” Harry’s voice is weaker than he intended it to be. “I just like spending time with him, that’s all.”

“Yeah, except then when I try to get ahold of you, I can’t. You know how much I freaking hate that.”

Tears spring to Harry’s eyes before he can stop them. “I’m s-sorry,” he stutters. “I didn’t mean to let my phone die. It was an accident, I swear-”

“Whatever,” interrupts Thomas, crossing his arms and turning away to move further into the flat. “It’s not like I care. You sucking his dick, too?”

“What? Of _course_ not, you know I would never.” Harry hurries to scrub the tears off his cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper. “Thomas. Please. I’m sorry. I would never. Why would- why would you even say something like that?”

“Because you’re a fucking _slag,_ Harry, that’s fucking why!” Thomas whirled around and threw his arms wide like he was struggling to encompass the scope of how obvious this answer was. “All you ever do is try to get cock. You’re the definition of a slut. Look, I’m sitting here yelling at you and you still want to suck me off.”

Harry tries to quiet the steady stream of hiccupy sobs coming out of him now as he fights through his confusion. He didn’t _think_ that he wanted to suck Thomas off. In fact, at the moment he couldn’t think about much other than the way his chest was too tight to breathe around. He wasn’t hard. Even Thomas’ words weren’t getting him excited. All he could think about was the fact that Thomas was _angry_ with him, and how desperately he wanted him not to be.

But what broke Harry’s heart was that he knew Thomas was right. He _was_ a slag. He was always so eager to suck Thomas off. He was always getting hard thinking about it. What kind of a slut was that eager? He probably wanted to suck Thomas off right now, even when he was getting yelled at. Even if the thought of doing that kind of made Harry’s stomach turn, Thomas was probably right because in the end, Thomas knew the truth about Harry.

The slut.

Thomas took a slow step closer to Harry. “I’m right, aren’t I? Go on, then. Get on your knees. You know you fucking want to.”

When he sank to his knees in front of Thomas, Harry tried to ignore the way his hands were sweaty and his throat constricted. _Don’t be stupid. You want this. Don’t be stupid, Harry, you know you’re a slut._

And his tears were absolutely only out of concentration when he put his mouth on Thomas with stiff, robotic motions, because you don’t cry when you want it, right? And he did. He wanted it, Thomas told him so.

Thomas, who was still letting Harry touch him. Thomas, who might actually forgive him for being stupid, for being a slut. Thomas.

And no matter how hard his body told him to _stop,_ _pull away,_ Harry just kept on taking more and more of Thomas into his mouth like that would choke out the hiccups that got worse as the tears kept coming. He kept doing this one thing, the only thing he was good at, because maybe if he was good enough at that it would make up for him being so exceptionally shit at everything else in his life.

And when Thomas grabbed his head in both hands and fucked into Harry’s mouth, it was probably only the roughness that made him strain so hard to pull away, that made him push against Thomas’ thighs and jerk back with all of his might. It was probably just the surprise that made Harry gag as Thomas dug fingernails into his scalp and held him there until he had emptied himself into Harry’s throat.

Thomas pulled away and Harry sank to the floor with a strangled sob, but it was probably only because he had the heavy weight of the truth on his shoulders.

_Slut._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start updating every day now because ~~I fill a void within myself by making others happy~~ so many people are requesting it :)
> 
> canonlarry.tumblr


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: homophobia, hate language, emotional abuse, **DOMESTIC VIOLENCE**
> 
> A version without the domestic violence will be provided **[here](http://canonlarry.tumblr.com/post/88394578455/give-me-truths-chapter-8-alternative-version)** so please use it if you think you might be triggered by a graphic description of domestic violence! Safety first, always :)

Louis fretted over Harry for the rest of the night. He fell asleep fretting. He woke up fretting. He checked his phone a hundred times and tucked it away disappointed each time, all while fretting.

In short, he was useless until Harry showed up.

For once he was actually awake early enough that when the 10am knock on the door bounced through the dorm room, he was ready and waiting to spring up and answer it. On the other side, mercifully, was Harry. “Haz, hey,” Louis exhaled, trying not to sound too relieved. “How are you? You alright? Feeling good? Did you talk to Thomas? Zayn stayed with you yesterday, right? Oh, I guess you should come in.”

Harry’s smile was microscopic, but at least it was present. He let himself be ushered in, but detoured to the kitchen instead of going to the couch like usual. The kettle was already halfway to the sink before he threw a questioning glance over his shoulder to Louis.

“Put one on for me too, yeah?” Harry nodded and went about making the tea in silence. It made Louis fidget- silence was not his best element. “Um. Sorry about all the questions. Didn’t mean to overwhelm you, I was just- worried, I guess. But. Y’alright?” A shrug. “Zayn told you that I had to work, yeah?” Nod. “Did you wind up talking to Thomas last night?” A pause, then a nod.

“Am I getting the silent treatment?” Louis said miserably after a pause of his own. “Because I know I can be an annoying twat, but I promise I’ll shut up if you want me to.”

Harry shook his head, then smiled at the slip. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s not you. Got a sore throat, is all.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, either. About half of the syllables he tried to push out were either cracked or silent, not supported by his damaged throat. Louis was polite enough not to mention that he knew exactly what kind of activities led to a voice that wrecked. He’s wound up with a voice like that more than a few times himself, and it was _not_ from a case of the winter sniffles.

“There’s honey in the cabinet, love,” is all he softly says. “Might help.”

The tea is brought to him on the couch, like _Harry’s_ the host and Louis the guest of honor. But it’s Harry who gets the prime cuddling position, tucked beneath Louis’ arm. It starts to get quiet again as they sip their tea, but Louis resists the urge to fill the space up with noise. _Harry_ came to _him._ This can be on his terms.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it yet,” he whispered past his broken throat a while later.

“Okay. When you’re ready. If you even want or need to talk about it. Just know that I’m here, yeah? Whatever you need to feel okay.”

His mug is empty, and Harry puts it on the table and scootches the additional millimeters closer to Louis. “Maybe like a million years of sleep. And a spa day.”

“Didn’t take you for the cucumber mask type, but now that you mention it, I can see it. You’d like the fluffy bath robes and water with rose petals in it, wouldn’t you?”

“Well I do like cucumbers. But I’d just settle for a massage at the moment. I like, slept weird last night and my shoulders and back are killing me.”

Louis sends up a silent prayer to all of the deities that Harry’s being honest about why he’s sore -any other alternatives involving Thomas might make him lose his lunch- before offering, “You want me to try? Used to rub me mum’s shoulders all the time when she would get off work. Liam still bribes me into doing his calves when he’s got a charlie horse.”

“Wait, are you serious?” It comes out more like ‘whhhh, ssrus?’ but the surprised look on Harry’s face when he cranes to look up at Louis fills in the blanks.

“If you want, yeah. Flip around, babe, sit sideways. Criss-cross so you don’t stretch your back out.” Harry obeys immediately, pliant under Louis’ direction and guiding hands. “You said shoulders and back, yeah?”

The knots in Harry’s back are obvious, tight lumps in his muscles that make Harry exhale, hard when Louis pushes on them. He hadn’t been kidding when he said the was used to giving massages- it was true that his mum had come home from the hospital and let him knead the top of her shoulders since he was too young to know what to do. Over time, though, he learned, and his hands are gentle and sure on Harry’s shoulders, his neck, the tightness down his spine.

Harry sighs contentedly. “Gonna fall asleep,” he mumbles, and then yawns hugely to illustrate his point.

“Wanna pop on over to Liam’s bed? He’s just washed the sheets and everything, he’d let you crash there,” Louis offers with a smile.

“Nah. I can sleep later. This feels better anyways.”

He sounds so relaxed and at ease that Louis absolutely cannot deny him. “Lay down on your stomach, then,” he says after a minute, watching Harry obey once again without hesitation. “Scoot over a bit. There’s a good lad.”

There’s a tiny sliver of the sofa next to Harry’s side where he’s pressed up against the back cushion from shoulder to knee, and Louis perches on the edge so he can continue working the knots out. If this were anyone else, he might have just made himself comfy straddling their hips, where he could lean forward and put the whole of his weight into the motions of his hands, but somehow that didn’t feel right just now. Maybe it was the way Harry still couldn’t speak without a crack in his voice that another man had caused. Maybe it was the memory of a certain vivid dream- or two or three- that still had the power to make Louis blush. Either way, Louis was perfectly content to stick to his little slice of safety by Harry’s side, even if it’s starting to make his bum ache.

He doesn’t have to stay long, though. Five more minutes had barely gone by before a little snore came from the place where Harry had nestled his head in the crook of his arm. Louis’ hands still as his ears strain to listen, and yes, there it is again. The softest little snores possible cutting through the quiet of the flat.

As quietly as he can, Louis slips from the couch and goes to grab a throw from the bathroom closet. It makes Harry look impossibly large, Louis muses with a smile, to see him taking up the length of the couch with his knees bent to fit, the sprawl of his limbs barely covered by the blanket Louis draped over him. He shifts in his sleep, his face turns towards his quiet caretaker, and his expression is so peaceful that at once he’s not nineteen, he’s just some little kid taking a carefree nap on an autumn afternoon.

Like a child, that is, except in the way that Louis thinks he’s maybe never seen someone half so beautiful in his life.

It’s a strange thing to think, after all, so Louis busies himself doing things that involve not at all looking at the gentle boy on his couch. He cleans up the cereal he spilled on the counter this morning. He folds last week’s clean laundry. When all else fails, he does the only other quiet thing he can think of: he pulls out the worn spiral notebook that holds all of the songs he’s ever written, opens to a blank page, and lets his mind flow out through the tip of his pencil.

There with his notebook and his thoughts, it’s easy to get lost. Time goes by without him noticing or giving permission, words and notes getting tangled up together of their own accord. It’s one of the easy days, where all Louis has to do is open the doors and the music rushes out, rather than having to be tugged gently free from the chaos. He loves days like these.

He doesn’t realize he’s humming until Harry mumbles something from the couch and he snaps into silence immediately. It’s too late- Harry’s already propping himself up on his elbows, running a hand through his hair and searching until he finds Louis. “Lou. Hey,” he says sleepily.

“Sorry, did my singing wake you up? Sorry,” Louis grimaces. “You were having such a good nap, too.”

“No, I couldn’t even hear you.” Harry got up, stretching tall to the ceiling, and came over next to the bed where Louis was curled up. “You were singing?”

“Well, humming. Songwriting.”

“Can I hear?” he asks with a wide, enthusiastic smile.

“Maybe some other time,” Louis answers sweetly, closing his notebook. _“I’m_ the one taking care of _you_ today, remember?”

“Well, technically that could involve singing to me if I wanted, couldn’t it?”

“Don’t be cheeky! If I sing you’re going to make it into a big thing and try to compliment me aren’t you? Hmm? Be honest, Harold, I’m excellent at telling when you’re lying.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright, maybe. But if you want my opinion, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with giving you attention for things you’re good at.”

“I absolutely agree! You should praise me at all times. Just, you know, not when I’m taking care of you. Now, are you hungry?” Louis hops off the bed and escapes past Harry and into the kitchen with a smile lingering on his lips.

“Umm. Kind of. My throat is still sore, though.”

“Sounds better, though. Loads. You’ll be good to go in a couple of hours.”

“Thank you for your expert medical opinion.”

“Shut up. Anyways, dunno that I have much to eat here… want to go out and grab something?” Louis yawned as he shut the fridge in resignation.

“Oh. That’s okay. I um, I don’t think that I have any cash on me,” Harry says with a blush. “I can go, I’ll get out of your hair-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. My treat, yeah? My mum just wired me a bunch of money anyways. She wants me to go shopping. Thinks my wardrobe is getting too worn or some rubbish,” he replies with a wrinkle of his nose.

Harry giggles at the look on his face. “Do you not like clothes?”

“Clothes I like just fine. It’s shopping that gets me. Hate all the trying stuff on, and trying to figure out what looks good on you…”

“But that’s the best part,” Harry says, affronted. “You get to look at all kinds of different styles -erm, no pun intended- and see what you like, and you can think up outfits, and-”

If it were anyone else, Louis would have a gay joke already rolling off of his tongue. But with Harry, he just smiles and shakes his head. “You’re really into this, aren’t you? Maybe I should take you shopping with me, then.”

“You should!”

“You seriously want to come shopping with me?” Louis asks curiously, searching Harry a little more carefully.

There is only genuine excitement in Harry’s face. “Yeah, definitely. That would be loads of fun. I’ve never gone shopping for punk fashion before.”

“That settles it,” declares Louis. “You’re officially my new shopping buddy. But be forewarned, I’m probably going to talk shit about ninety percent of what you pick out. So.”

“Deal! Are we going to go today?”

“Do you want to?”

“I mean- whenever. Whatever you want,” comes the reply. Harry’s suddenly shy, but there’s still an excited light in his eyes that’s impossible to resist.

“Today sounds great,” Louis answers. And that’s that.

He almost regrets making Harry pick what they’d have for lunch when he chooses some health food smoothie place Louis didn’t even know existed, but he just smirks and picks something with bacon in it. The whole time, Harry’s babbling about which shops they should go to- not that he’s particularly in tune with punk fashion, but he’s a self-admitted frequenter of the mall and knows which stores sell what and who’s having sales. “I get bored, I just like to go look,” he defends like it’s a crime, though secretly Louis finds it charming.

When they _do_ get to the mall, Harry is a man on a mission. He forces Louis into just about every shop they pass, then leads him through the racks trying to pick things out that Louis will like. At first he’s hesitant with his choices, pausing before even holding anything up for Louis to look at, and then only with a shy smile and a bite of his lip. But of course Louis was nothing but kind, even when Harry held up some of the most ridiculous, posh, preppy pieces that he’d never dream of wearing.

Eventually, Harry doesn’t even have to look to Louis for approval before adding items to the pile of things that Louis’ made to try on. Louis still looks, and he still grins to see that Harry’s largely spot-on for his sense of style, but Harry no longer needs his validation. He just guides Louis to the dressing room, hands him the pile of clothes, and lets the real fun begin.

Louis has spent enough time with his four little sisters to know that the sparkle in Harry’s eyes is exactly the same as that of a little girl playing dress-up with her dolls. Which might have been demeaning, if it weren’t how very seriously Harry took it. He listened carefully to all of Louis’ opinions, then added his own critical evaluation to the mix. Not once was he ever too harsh, though- it was always the _clothes_ that did not flatter _Louis,_ never the other way around.

In fact, shopping with Harry was the biggest confidence boost Louis’d had in a long time. “That cut really suits you,” the boy would gush, or, “your skin looks really good in that color.” Combined with Louis’ own high esteem, the piles of accepted clothes always outweighed the rejected ones.

Only once did they disagree. It was the final outfit in the final store Harry was planning on them going to, a pair of tight red jeans, a tee, and a navy blue blazer. Harry thought it was fantastic. Louis was unsold.

“What don’t you like about it, Lou?” asked Harry patiently.

“Well for starts, these jeans are way too tight for me to pull off. As in look good in, not actually hard for me to get off. Although they’re tight enough to be problematic in that department, too.”

Harry scoffed. “Oh shut up. Your bum looks really nice in those jeans and you know it.”

The comment made Louis’ eyes go wide and his jaw drop open. “Did you just- are you getting _flirty_ with me, Harry Styles?”

“Wh- what? No, I didn’t- I wasn’t- I didn’t mean to-”

“I’m teasing, love, teasing. I know you weren’t,” soothed Louis when the look of distress on Harry’s face exceeded the threshold of amusement. “But. You’re right about my bum. So. I guess the jeans can stay. But the blazer- what were you thinking, Harry?”

It was something Harry had run back to get at the last second, passing it to him over the dressing room door without a word. Now he rushes to its defense. “Why, what’s wrong with it? Look how nice it looks on you, yeah?”

“Harry. When is the last time you saw someone with eyeliner and neck tattoos rocking a blazer?”

“About ten seconds ago. I’m _serious,_ Louis, it looks really, really good on you. Look at yourself in the mirror.”

Louis feels slightly silly, but he does it, for Harry. The long mirror at the end of the row of stalls framed him like a picture, though one he never expected to see of himself. The trousers might have been the first thing to draw the eye, but it was the blazer that made Louis stop and stare. The sleeves came down just past the elbow, showing off the tattoos covering his forearms, and it _did_ make his waist seem even daintier than it already was. It looked good, it just didn’t necessarily look _Louis._ It was really more-

_Harry._

“I like it,” he declared with a firm nod. “You were right again, Harold. Let’s head out, yeah?”

If Harry was at all surprised by Louis’ sudden change of heart, he didn’t show it. He was too busy looking smug.

They wound up spending every dime Louis’ mum had sent, which simultaneously horrified and impressed him. But in the end, Louis has a revamped wardrobe and Harry seems charmed by the whole experience, so that’s enough to make it a win overall.

But there are still larger issues that are hanging out in the back of Louis’ mind, and they refuse to be ignored any longer. When they get back to the dorm and are plopped on the couch in front of the telly, Louis can’t help but ask. “So. Harry. Are you still not ready to talk about what happened with Thomas?”

The smile slides right off of Harry’s face, which is almost enough to make Louis drop it- but not quite. “Um. It didn’t really go well. I guess,” Harry admitted at last. “Remember how you said it would help to talk about it as long as both sides wanted to make things better?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I was the only side trying.”

It hurts that much worse because Louis saw that coming from a mile away, like a train wreck destined to happen that you’re absolutely helpless to stop. His words come out bitter. “Did the DTR go south before or after he wrecked your throat?”

As soon as he’s said it, Louis wants to snatch the words out of the air and shove them back into his mouth. Harry looks like he’s about to pass out from mortification. _Stupid, Louis. Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He should have known better than to let that happen, because Harry was just delicate enough that one jealous, bitter comment from Louis could mess it all up.

For a minute, Louis thought it had. There was absolute silence except for the television noise, silence that was so heavy Louis couldn’t even manage to birth an apology into it. This was it, then. Louis was about to break this kid’s heart and lose a friend he cared about just because he was bitter that Harry was having sex with someone nowhere near good enough for him- which was not Louis’ business at all and _definitely_ shouldn’t have been something he said out loud. A friendship. A heart. Victims of Louis just being an idiot.

But finally, quietly, with his head hung low, Harry answered. “How… how did you know?”

The response left Louis reeling; of all the things Harry wanted to say just now-? “Your voice is wrecked, babe. It’s- it’s kind of a distinctive sound. I knew right away.”

“Oh.” Harry sniffles, and Louis realized with horror that this time, the tears might be _his_ fault. “Are you mad at me? I mean- are you judging me for it? I understand if you do.”

“What? Harry, no, of course not,” Louis rushes to assure him. “Who you decide to have sex with is completely your choice. No one should ever judge you for that choice.”

Harry’s voice is oh so quiet. “Not even if we did things… after the talk went wrong?”

“I don’t- I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, babe.”

“After the DTR. After I figured out that he doesn’t really want to make things better between us. I still-” He can’t finish the sentence. Harry just keeps shaking his head from side to side slowly, like that will make it go away.

Louis exhaled the breath he forgot he has holding. “I don’t understand why, but I’m not judging you. “Do you- do you want to talk about it? Can you explain why?”

“It was for my benefit,” Harry says immediately, like Louis might contradict him. “It was because I wanted it. It’s always me, always for my benefit. Never for Thomas’ or anything.”

Louis’ heart is pounding in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t say it. Unequivocally, he shouldn’t. It isn’t his place, or his business, and even if it was, what he had to say might break Harry. He shouldn’t say it. He does anyways.

“Harry. Love. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but… is it? Is it really benefiting you? Because every time you come to me after, you just seem like you’ve… fallen apart.”

Harry breaks.

His face falls into his hands and he’s crying, sniffly, snotty tears. “I think it has to stop, Louis,” he says between hiccups. “The sex. And the- he doesn’t care about me the way I care about him. And I don’t think that I can do this halfway anymore.”

Louis just wraps his arms around Harry’s broad shoulders and squeezes tight. “I’m so sorry, babe. I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this for you.”

“I can _feel_ my heart tearing apart, Lou.”

Louis squeezes tighter.

“I think I have to just be friends with him. Because if I try to be more, and he doesn’t… it just hurts. Is that okay? That I can’t do that anymore?” Harry pleads.

“Of course,” Louis says fiercely. “Absolutely. No one knows what you need better than you do. And you have to do what’s best for you here, alright? If that’s being just friends, then do that. Tell him that. You take care of you, and don’t let anyone tell you that’s wrong. Hear me?”

Harry nods. His face has found its way into the crook of Louis’ neck, and Louis can feel hot tears on his skin. “I want you to promise me something though,” he asks of the boy in his arms. “I want you to tell me before you decide to talk to him again. Yeah? Because I want to support you.”

“Okay.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

It’s a long while before Harry is strong enough in his new conviction of what needs to be done to convince Louis that he’s fine to walk home. He needs the fresh air to clear his head, he says. Louis believes him.

…………………

It’s not that he forgets the promise he made to Louis, it’s just that Harry has never been very good at doing things that are in his best interest. He does not call Louis when he decides halfway back to his flat that now is the time to talk to Thomas. He does not tell Louis how he can’t do anything except go, right now. He does not allow himself to think about what is best, or whether Louis will frown upon him for this. He just goes.

After ten minutes of pacing back and forth on the walk in front of Thomas’ building, Harry works up the nerve to go up the stairs once more. Thomas answers the door with a raise of his eyebrows. “Oh. Harry. You want something?”

“I want to talk to you. Please,” Harry blurts like he isn’t shaking a little from head to toe in a way that wasn’t entirely related to the cold.

“Oh my- not this again," Thomas groaned. "Ugh, alright.” He stepped aside and let Harry slip past him into the flat. “My show’s going to come on in like ten minutes though, so could you…” He gestured with his hand that Harry should get the ball rolling. “Just saying.”

“Right. Well. I wanted to talk to you about us.” It comes out braver than Harry feels.

Thomas’ eyes are cold in an instant. “What ‘us?’”

“Our- whatever we are. Friendship, I guess. Relationship. Whatever.”

"You keep acting like there's an 'us' to talk about."

"That's what I want to talk about," Harry ventured. "We're not in a relationship, but I still do things for you. To you. And it's one-sided. And I think maybe it doesn't work when it's one-sided."

That made Thomas get very still. "What, you think I should start sucking you off, too? Start acting like a proper fag?"

Confidence was draining out of Harry like someone had yanked the plug out of the bottom of his heart. “Well. I mean of course I would like being touched, but I know that you’re not- I know you don’t want that. And that’s okay. But it’s just that maybe it doesn’t work, if it doesn’t go both ways. So maybe we… shouldn’t. Anymore.”

"Shouldn't what, Harry?"

"Shouldn't have me, um, do things to you anymore. Like, just be friends. Because it has to be all or nothing, I think," he hurries to explain. "And like, if it's somewhere in between a friendship and a relationship, then things get weird and people get hurt sometimes."

"Who exactly do you feel like is being hurt by this stupid situation being unbalanced? Huh?" Thomas' voice is so hard and angry now. "Who do you think is getting hurt? Me or you?"

Harry takes a deep breath to steel his nerves. He thinks of Louis, how he's always saying that honesty is the best policy, and it makes him feel strong enough to look Thomas in the eye when he says, "Me. It's hurting me."

"You're fucking messed up," Thomas spits, and Harry's steel turns to mush. "You're _actually_ trying to convince me that I'm hurting you by not being some stupid fag."

"N-no, it's not that, I'm not blaming you for anything, it's just what we're _doing_ is hurting me. So I just think if we don't do that anymore-"

"You're trying to manipulate me!"

“I’m- I’m not. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel,” Harry says desperately.

“Like I’m supposed to give a fuck?”

It makes the breath catch in Harry’s lungs, and he just wants to disappear forever. “W-what?”

Thomas looked him straight in the eye. “Why. Would I. Give a Fuck. What you feel?”

“Because,” Harry wheezes around the irons bands around his chest, “you’re my- you’re my friend. You’re supposed to care about me-”

“I don’t give two shits about you, Harry!” Thomas yelled suddenly with a look of incredulity on his face. “We aren’t _friends._ We haven’t been friends for a long time. The only reason I let you hang around me is because I feel bad for you!”

Harry’s eyes are starting to water, but he’s shaking his head. “You’re- no. You’re lying, you’re just mad. You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“You can’t.”

“I can and I fucking do, stupid! Jesus christ you’re an idiot.” Thomas dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I’m a good person. So I took pity on you, because you’re some stupid, slutty fag with no friends. What about that don’t you get? What is there to explain?”

Everything was _wrong,_ like Harry couldn’t physically process the words coming out of Thomas’ mouth. He clenched his teeth to keep in a sob, then used the last of his strength to croak, “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t feel anything for me.”

“I couldn’t care about you less.”

It was the dead glaze to Thomas’ eyes that hurt the worst, Harry thought. He brought his hand up to his mouth and bit down, hard, like he could choke down his sobs or his disbelief. “I can’t- why would you do that to me?” he hiccupped. “This whole time I thought you cared about me, but you were just being cruel-”

_“Shut the fuck up!”_ Thomas roared, and before Harry could blink there were two hands on his chest, shoving, sending him reeling backwards, and he was falling, hard, wrist twisting as it hit a wall, wood snapping as his torso slammed into a table, body crumpling under the sheer weight of the anger coming off of the boy he loved.

Pain seared up his back, and he blinked away tears long enough to see Thomas hovering over him, to see a fist come crashing down and smashing into his jaw like it’s a runaway train and Harry is the brick wall at the station. Stars explode over Harry’s vision. There’s no air in his lungs, and he keeps trying to suck some in but his body just refuses. Finally, he manages a cough-

A rough hand is pressed over his mouth, cutting off the air once again, and already Harry could feel things starting to get dull. “Shut the fuck up!” Thomas screamed again, hands shaking Harry. “Don’t say that! I’m a good person! Do you fucking hear me? I’m a _good person!”_

Harry’s lungs were trying their hardest to expand, to bring in life, but no matter how hard he gasped the air he so desperately needed would not come. He needed to gasp, to suck in all of the air from the room, but breathing through his nose was about as useless as breathing through a straw. His hands pushed out on instinct, striking against muscle and flesh weakly. If he could have, he might have cried at the pain that shot up through his arm when his wrist made contact, but all he could do was continue to beat pathetically against the man on top of him.

Thomas might have been yelling still, but Harry was finding it hard to listen just then. There were black spots appearing in his eyes, and all Harry could think was _so this is it, then._ He was going to die here on the floor of Thomas’ apartment, with Thomas trapping his mouth and keeping the air from his lungs as painfully as he’d squeezed the happiness out of him just moments before.

Did it make it worse or better, that it seemed so fitting? It was sort of an unimportant way to go, quiet and slow in some random apartment. Unimportant. Harry. It all just seemed to match up so nicely.

He wasn’t expecting it to hurt so badly when his lungs reflexively pulled in air the second Thomas let him go. At least there was air, sweet air, rushing through his lips and dragging down into his chest. With every achy breath, a little more of the room came into focus, a little more of Thomas’ words became clear.

“...understand me? ...expect me ...for you. I … anything. You don’t ...have someone to love you … don’t deserve it. You’re nothing. You’re just a stupid fag!”

But Harry didn’t want or need to hear those words. He tried hard to block them out, to hear only the ragged wheeze of his breaths. He let his muscles contract painfully to bring him up to his elbows, to his hands and knees and, shakily, to his feet.

He didn’t look at Thomas at all when he stumbled out the door. He was even stoic as he made his way down the streets, leaning against shop windows and lamp posts so that he wouldn’t fall into the blanket of snow that was starting to dust the ground. And every tear that ran down his cheek got scrubbed away as soon as he could find the strength.

It wasn’t until he was standing in front of Louis’ door that he realized he’d been making his way to the safest place he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, friends, is how you help someone you care about see that they're in an abusive relationship and need to get out.
> 
> Also, if you're experiencing significant distress over Thomas' actions I recommend the "empty chair method"- that is, write a letter of all the things you'd say to Thomas if you could. Perhaps in the comments below, or the ask on my tumblr, canonlarry? ;) Just a thought. You know, for purely therapeutic reasons. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a single warning for this chapter, aren't you just the proudest? :) Enjoy some cuddly aftercare and intense feels, on the house.

Louis was in the middle of a satisfying nap when someone banged on the door to the dorm room. He sat bolt upright in his bed, tearing the page of his textbook where he’d passed out with his face on the pages and wound up getting them stuck together. He peeled the paper from his cheek and looked at the clock. 8:27 PM.

“Who the fuck’s come around this late?” Louis mumbled, finding a beanie to tug on over his flattened hair as he made his way to the door. “Who is it?” he called, louder.

The reply that came through the door was broken and too quiet. “Louis… Lou please let me in. Please. I’m sorry. Lou.”

He ran the last few steps to the door and fumbled to get the latch open. “Harry?” he was asking before the door was even cracked. “What’s the matter?”

The taller boy collapsed onto Louis, who struggled to support both of them as he wrapped his arms around Harry. “Lou. ‘m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here-”

“Shut up, of course you should have,” Louis shushed him. “Tell me what’s the matter. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” There was something wrong with Harry’s voice- was he crying?

“‘m alright. ‘m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Come on, let’s get you to the couch, okay?” Harry quieted at Louis’ words and let him slip underneath one arm, propping Harry up as they stumbling across the room. “There we go, nice and easy… Harry, look at me. Please, love, just tell me if you’re alright.”

But Harry wouldn’t quite meet Louis’ eyes. “I think so,” he whispered.

“That’s not an answer,” Louis pressed on undeterred. “I need you to give me truths, alright? Not what you think you ought to say, and not what you think I want to hear. Do you understand what I want when I ask you to give me truths?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. That’s great. Now give me truths. Are you alright?”

A few tears leaked from Harry’s eyes and Louis beat him to the punch wiping them away. “I don’t know,” confessed Harry. “I can’t- I don’t know.”

“I believe you,” Louis replies, all gentleness, kneeling in front of where Harry’s slumped on the couch. “Can you tell me if you’re physically hurt, then? You can’t hardly walk.”

Harry hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m- my face. And my wrist. And sort of. All over.”

“Let me look, love.”

Louis gestures for Harry to sit forward, moving him gingerly with the softest of touches. He helps him shrug out of his coat, but as soon as it’s gone, Harry has one large hand up blocking his neck from sight. “It’s okay, really,” he tried to insist. “I’m alright.”

But assurances like that fall flat when your voice keeps cracking and breaking and nothing is above a whisper. One disapproving look from Louis and Harry caved, another tear slipping out as his hand fell away.

Already a large, mottled bruise was forming on the curve of Harry’s jaw. It was starting to swell, raised off of his face in an angry welt. The dark red mark was punctuated by the near-black of crusted blood on his cheek where a jagged cut ran from cheekbone to jawbone.

“F-fuck,” Louis said shakily, staring at the red marks on Harry’s throat. He couldn’t be sure, but- “Did somebody do this to you?”

Harry can’t even lie, only sniffle a little harder than before. “It’s okay though, I’m okay.”

“‘Okay?’ Harry, you’ve got your face busted open, in what universe is that okay?” It comes out kind of high-pitched, and Harry seemed to shrink a little. “Who did this, Harry?” he tried again, softer. Curls bounced as Harry shook his head very firmly. _Can’t tell you._ Louis sighed. “Let me see your wrist, then.”

“It was an accident,” he’s explaining even as he holds his wrist out for Louis to examine. “I fell. That’s why I hurt all over.”

 _I suppose your face fell on someone’s fist, too,_ Louis just manages not to say. He’s trying to focus on handling Harry with care, turning the wrist over in his fingers like it’s made of porcelain until Harry yelps and pulls away. “Sorry, sorry,” Louis apologizes at once. “Didn’t mean to hurt you babe. I think it’s sprained, though.”

There’s no response other than a nod and another few quiet tears. Louis reaches up and wipes them away again, wracking his brains for what the protocol is for this, for when you have a boy on your couch with more hurts than you know how to heal.

But like it always seems to happen with Harry, Louis gives up and just does what Harry wants instead of what’s best for him. Tonight, here, that’s Louis crawling onto the couch next to him and sitting squarely in his lap, until Harry has his arms wound around Louis’ waist and his face pressed into the crook of Louis’ neck. As soon as his face is hidden, Harry’s tears start falling in earnest, low sobs brushing across Louis chest and making Harry’s back tense up in pain.

Louis lets himself be squeezed tightly, squeezes back until there isn’t a millimeter between them. They rock gently back in forth, Louis pressing his lips to Harry’s temple in his best attempt at calming. For a while, it seems not to work. As time goes on, Harry only cries harder, like the weight of whatever had crushed him in the first place is only growing.

“I don’t understand why,” Harry forces out between sobs after such a long time that Louis has stopped keeping track. “Why would he do this?”

Someone else might have needed to ask, ‘who?’ but Louis did not. There was only one kind of person that could make you hurt like this, and that was one that you loved from the bottom of your heart. “Do you want to tell me what happened with Thomas?”

“I t-tried to t-talk to him again. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I c-couldn't w-wait.”

The words could not have hit Louis with more force if they were specifically engineered to. He bit down on the inside of his cheek until it bled. _Stupid stupid stupid your fault shouldn’t have told him to do that-_ “And what- what happened? When you tried to talk to him?”

Harry presses his face even harder into Louis’ shoulder. “I think I d-did it wr-wrong. He was- he got really, really m-mad. I think I was m-mean to him.”

It was almost laughable to hear the boy crying in his arms talk about being _mean_ to someone- except that it wasn’t really funny at all. “I really, really doubt that,” he murmured. “But no matter what, he should not have put his hands on you.”

“I said something I sh-shouldn’t have, though-”

“Nope. Not ever. Okay? There’s no gray area there.”

“I just wanted him to understand that he’s hurting me.” It comes out as more of a moan than actual words, bringing on a fresh round of sobs.

“You know this isn’t your fault, right?” Louis asked after a pause, fingers combing gently through Harry’s curls as he rocked them harder than ever. “Someone hurting you is never your fault, no matter what you think you did to provoke it.”

“He doesn’t c-care about me.”

“I can’t speak for him, babe, I don’t know.”

“No, I’m telling you. He told me s-so. He told me that he doesn’t give a- that he doesn’t care about m-me at all, because I’m s-stupid and I’m a f-fag and I’m a s-slut.”

Louis winced, but kept right on rocking back and forth. “Oh, Harry. I’m so sorry. That’s… that’s absolutely terrible. Are you alright?”

“I’m… angry, I th-think.”

“Yeah, of course you are. Absolutely, babe, you have a right to be.”

“Do I?”

At that, Louis pulled back so he could search Harry’s tear-stained face. As he watched, Harry hiccupped and tried very, very hard not to. His brows were furrowed, though, his eyes a little stronger, a little harder than before. “What are you talking about? Someone hurt you, of course you’re angry.”

“I wasn’t sure,” sniffled Harry, “but I am. Angry. My whole body feels hot and I’m hurt and I’m just- I’m just _mad._ Why does he get to hurt me like that? But I don’t want to be angry, because I shouldn’t be! I don’t have the right to be angry because he didn’t do anything but tell me the truth. Why am I so stupid? Why am I letting that hurt me?”

“Harry, darling, take a breath,” Louis said firmly, a little alarmed at the sudden energy in Harry. “What am I always telling you? Your emotions are valid- you’re allowed to feel whatever you feel.”

“But I don’t _understand_ it, Lou,” Harry cries, and all of a sudden he can’t catch his breath, he’s crying so hard that his fists clench around Louis shirt and his eyes squeeze shut against his tears and the air only comes to him in tiny gasps. He pushes words out anyway, barely understandable around the roughness of his voice and the catches in his breath. “I don’t understand why everything feels this way, and why I’m so hurt and so angry. And I don’t understand why everything feels so- so _much_. Lou. Tell me why, Lou, please.”

Louis continues to wipe his thumbs across Harry’s cheeks, removing the tears as far as they fall, because that’s all he can think to do around the mounting alarm in his head. “I don’t- I can’t- I’m not sure, darling. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, take a deep breath. You’re panicking. I need you to breathe.”

“I just need someone to care. Is that so much to ask?” Harry hiccups in response.

It’s enough to break Louis’ heart. “Oh, Harry. Of course not, you deserve that and so much m-”

He never gets to finish though, never gets to tell Harry all of the good things that someone as sweet as him deserves out of a world like theirs, because Harry’s kissing him, needily, hungrily. For a second, every thought in Louis’ mind freezes completely, narrows down to the way that Harry’s lips are moving against his in a way that’s at once hard enough to bruise and soft enough to crave.

And then, just as suddenly as the kiss began, Harry’s pulling away and staring at Louis in horror. “Louis, I am so- I am _so sorry._ I don’t know why I just-” He cuts himself off with a violent shake of his head, sliding Louis off of his lap to stand with his hands pressed to his face. “I can’t believe- I am so, so _sorry.”_

Louis’s brain is suddenly working again, in overdrive, making up for the lost time by screaming at him in something close to blind panic. He realizes seconds after Harry does that _this was a mistake._ He can see in his mind the road map of how they got here, from Harry, coming into Louis’ flat so broken and vulnerable, to Louis, foolishly drawing him closer than he should have dared. It was all wrong. Harry’s vulnerable, and not thinking straight, and for god’s sake he’s got a _boyfriend._ It’s like every decision-making nightmare Louis’ ever had rolled up into one and no matter how much he might have admired the feel of Harry’s lips this was absolutely, positively the _worst_ idea possible.

“Please don’t hate me,” Harry asked weakly, still pressing his hands to his mouth in mingled fear and disgust. “I’m so- I didn’t mean to do that to you, it just happened. Please, _please_ don’t hate me. It’ll never happen again, I swear.”

“Harry, take a deep breath,” Louis begs, because he’s still not sure that Harry’s fully inhaled in the last ten minutes. “Please. It’s alright. I understand, okay? I know you didn’t mean anything by it. These things happen. It’s just- it’s not the time, you know? And you’re upset and you probably didn’t mean it, so we shouldn’t-”

Harry’s inconsolable. He’s stumbled back until his back is pressed against the wall, fresh tears on his face. “I’m so stupid,” he whispers into his hands, “I’ve messed everything up. So _stupid.”_

It’s beyond what Louis’ capable of, to see him looking so miserable. “I promise you, babe, it’s alright. I’m not mad at you, nothing’s the matter. Okay? I’d tell you if it was. But I promise, I understand.”

The words aren’t sinking in, apparently, because Harry’s coming back to sit next to Louis with torture all over his face. “You can hurt me if you want to.”

_“What?!”_

“Hurt me,” repeats Harry firmly. “Hit me, or push me, or twist my bad wrist. I know I deserve it, so it’s okay if you want to.”

And it’s all the more horrible to hear because of the way he says it so simply, like for Louis to hurt him over a tiny mistake is the most obvious thing in the world. Like it’s only natural. Louis has to remind himself how words work so that he can stutter out an, “Are you joking? Harry, _no._ There’s no way I’m going to hurt you. You don’t deserve it, just like you didn’t deserve it when Thomas did it.”

“Yeah, but Lou, I _forced myself on you.”_

“Harry, you kissed me, that’s all,” Louis protests, his voice tinged with desperation. “And I wasn’t exactly pushing you off, either.”

Harry’s voice drops ever quieter, so low that when his voice cracks in pain from the steadily darkening marks on his neck no sound comes out at all. “Please. Please, I need this. I need to feel something that I understand. I don’t understand anything, Lou, but I think I could understand that.”

But Louis cannot be shaken. “It’s not your fault, and I’m not mad, and I’m definitely, absolutely not going to hurt you.”

If it were anyone but Louis that sat before him, Harry might have succeeded in slamming his wounded wrist into the drywall behind the couch. He might have actually gotten the chance to feel the jarring physical pain that was at least logical. He might have found something to make his head stop spinning in confusion, to make everything slow down, to make everything feel a little less awful and scary and _wrong._

But it _was_ Louis, and sharp eyes read his mind before he even got the chance. Tan fingers closed around his forearm and sapped the momentum out of the blow long before it could make contact with the wall. “Harry, don’t,” he pleads again.

“At least this makes sense, Lou,” Harry cries. “I understand it, at least. I need to understand something.”

Just like that, logic flies out the window and Louis just lets the words he means tumble out of his lips. He is too far gone to be anything but desperate. “Harry, if someone's got to be in pain then you can beat the shit out of me, I don't care. But _please,_ you can't hurt yourself. I _can't_ sit here and watch you hurt yourself."

He watches horror dawn anew on Harry’s face. “What? Hurt- hurt _you?”_

Louis lets go of Harry’s wrist so he can spread his arms wide. “Do what you need to do in order to feel okay again. But do it to me. Please. I can’t… I can’t watch you hurt yourself.”

“But that’s not- I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you,” Harry says weakly. “That’s not going to help anything. You’ll just be hurt and nothing will be better.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” replies Louis just as quietly. “If you hurt yourself, nothing gets better. You’re just more hurt. And I am too.”

He can see the minute that it clicks for Harry, the minute that all of the energy and the anger and the pain collapse inwards and he’s just empty. His eyes flutter closed, tears spilling from beneath his lashes, and when Louis pulls him to lay on the couch with his head cradled in Louis’ lap, he doesn’t even have the strength to protest.

Time passed, until Louis’ back ached from sitting upright and he had to lean sideways on the back of the couch to ease the protests of his muscles. Harry’s torrent of tears slowed down to a trickle, to a drizzle, to a stop.

“Your sweatpants are all wet,” Harry pointed out after a while. “Sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis shrugged. “Just pants. As long as you won’t go telling anyone I pissed myself, yeah?”

It’s the first joke he’s made in hours and it falls off his tongue a little stiffly, but Harry’s dimple makes an appearance anyways. “Kay. Won’t.”

“There’s a good lad.” Louis runs a hand through Harry’s curls, combing them back away from his face. “Your face looks miserable- well, the bruise, I mean. Let me go grab a washcloth and some peroxide or something-”

“No,” Harry says quickly, wrapping a hand around Louis’ ankle. “I mean- please don’t go. I just want you to stay here.”

“Okay. Sure, babe.”

“Promise you won’t leave?”

“Of course not. I’m here for you, Hazza.”

Louis doesn’t attempt to move anymore after that. He nestles awkwardly into the couch cushion by his side and pulls his fingers through Harry’s hair gently, rhythmically, letting his nails run lightly across the scalp beneath when he discovers that makes Harry positively purr.

It’s late when Liam comes in from his night class, the door thrown wide and an aroma of sweat and grass and boy wafting in. Louis wills him not to slam the door or shout anything, because unless he’s mistaken Harry fell asleep not five minutes before. Somehow, mercifully, Liam’s entrance is unobtrusive enough that Louis’ charge slumbers on in his lap, looking the most at peace he’s been in weeks.

Liam comes to a complete stop when he sees them there, curled uncomfortably around each other and silent as could be. He take in the scene- the discarded coat, the bruised profile of Harry’s face, the strained paleness of Louis’- and raises an eyebrow. Louis just replies with a shake of his head. _Can’t talk. Not now. Not tonight._

And Liam, of course, understands. He nods once, fishes a tank top and a clean pair of sweats from his laundry pile, and makes his way right back out the door. _Niall’s,_ he mouths as he goes. _I’m here for you,_ he doesn’t need to add.

When he’s alone with Harry once more, Louis lets his eyes drift shut at last. There’s a kind of stillness in the room that’s closer to peace than he thought he’d get tonight, and that’s enough to allow sleep to tug at the corners of his mind until finally, gently, the quiet rocks him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can we all exhale a bit better now? Harry's all cuddled up in Louis' arms and it will all b ok. Not like anything bad can happen in chapters 9-25... right? (sly flirty emoji)
> 
> Oh and since I've been getting a lot of comments asking- yes, I'm a psychologist :) I'm currently a senior in my four-year program, getting my Bachelor of Science degree in Clinical Psychology with a minor in Human Services, and applying to doctoral programs for next fall to get my PhD in Mental Health Counseling. So if you're seeing a therapist on the east coast of the US sometime down the road... ask her what her tumblr url is. You just never know. Might be canonlarry ;)
> 
> And additionally, because I'm your mum and because this has also come up in the comments, if you or someone you know might be in an abusive situation, I encourage you to educate yourself and seek help in a safe way. [here](http://thisisabuse.direct.gov.uk/) is an excellent website where you can get the facts and get help if needed.
> 
> Take care of yourselves, everyone! As Louis and I always say, _you are your own number one priority._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: homophobia, homophobic language

The first thing Louis noticed when he opened his eyes was that this was not his bed.

His face was pressed into the familiar stained blue corduroy of his and Liam’s couch, and unless he was mistaken, it was his own duvet that was pulled up around his shoulders and tucked in neatly beneath his body. The problem was that the more his mind pulled free of sleep, the surer he was that he hadn’t fallen asleep under these circumstances.

As he shot upright, the achy protests of his back and neck confirmed it: no, he was not crazy and yes, he had fallen asleep sitting up with Harry cradled in his lap. Now, though, he found that he had been guided down onto the couch with a pillow beneath his head and a duvet wrapped around him, and that he was very much alone on the sofa.

Harry cleared his throat from across the room and gave Louis a small smile. He was perched on Louis’ bed atop neatly made sheets, legs folded and hands wrapped around a mug. A few blinks later, Louis noticed that Harry wasn’t in his own clothes, but rather in an ensemble of Louis’ beanie, Liam’s sweats, and an old band t-shirt that Louis was only half sure he’d washed recently.

“Morning,” said Harry quietly, then gestured to another mug on the coffee table. “I made tea, if you want.”

“Is it-”

“Milk in first, no sugar.”

“You’re fantastic,” Louis replied fondly as he helped himself to the mug. He didn’t bring up that, given the state of the dorm, Harry’d probably had to wash both of these before fixing anything. The boy had made his bed for him, for god’s sake.

“No problem.” Harry’s voice cracks on the last syllable, and his smile quickly turns into a wince. He brings a hand up to touch his face, and for a second his fingers ghost over the bruises now clearly defined on the pale curve of his jaw.

“How you feeling?” Louis asks as casually as he can. It means a lot of different things.

“Alright.”

“Really alright? Tell me the truth. Give me truths, Harry.”

“Been better. I hurt. But alright overall.”

“How’s your wrist?” Louis asked, already off the couch and walking towards the bed. “Give it here, let me look.” It’s swollen and bruised, too, and Louis returns it to Harry at once in favor of going to the kitchen to seek out a bag of ice and the first aid kit he kept beneath the sink. “It’s at least sprained, maybe broken,” he mumbled. “You should have it x-rayed.”

There are a few quiet minutes that pass as Louis wraps a bandage around Harry’s wrist, securing it gently and placing the ice gingerly atop it. “You’re really good at this,” murmured Harry when Louis settled down next to him and took up his tea again.

“Call me Dr. Tommo,” Louis smiled. “Instead of stickers I give out tattoos.”

“Rain check on that?”

“Fair enough.”

“Where’d you learn to do that, though? Looks so neat, and you don’t do anything neatly.”

“Excuse me, I arrange my hair neatly at least half of the time,” he retorted with a smile to take the edge off. “But really, my mum’s a nurse. And I have four little sisters, so I got plenty of practice with them.”

“I can see it. Underneath all of the facial piercings you’re kind of a softie.”

“Don’t tell anyone, I have a reputation to maintain.”

Harry laughed like was supposed to, but his eyes were serious when he looked at Louis. “About last night, I wanted to apol-”

“Hush up, Harry,” reprimanded Louis as sweetly as he could. “Nothing to be sorry for, okay? You’re okay. We’re okay. That’s what’s important.”

“You’re really, really a softie.”

“Yeah, well.” Louis smiled and patted Harry’s knee, pretending that he hadn’t just brushed off something momentous. “Where’s my phone?” he mumbled with a half-fake yawn.

“Oh, it’s right here,” supplied Harry as he grabbed it off of the nightstand and placed it in Louis’ hand. “I found it when I was making the bed. Not sure why it was inside of a pillowcase, but.”

“No fucking clue. You didn’t have to do that, by the way. Or make tea. Or do dishes. Or- Jesus, did you fold laundry?”

“Got bored, but you were still asleep. If it makes you feel better the laundry’s done really poorly because I was doing it one-handed.”

“That doesn’t help much, no,” replied Louis with a frown. “You could have just woken me up, I would have done all that.”

Harry smiled good-naturedly. “Next time I will, then. Oh- you missed some messages, I think. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop, I just bumped the button when I moved it-”

“No worries, doesn’t bother me a bit if you go through my phone. Just don’t send my nudes to anyone, yeah?” Louis added wickedly.

“Your- I didn’t- you have- no, I- what?!”

 _“Kidding,_ Harry, christ.” It was impossible not to laugh at the embarrassment on Harry’s face.

“Oh.  Right. Sorry,” he replied with a blush.

Louis was too busy biting back an expletive to respond, though, because he’d just seen the screen of his phone- he hadn’t missed one or two messages, but _eighteen._ Twenty-three if you counted the missed calls.

**_(Zayn, 9:49 PM)_ ** _Hey, it’s Zayn, you seen H?_  
 **_(Zayn, 10:03 PM)_ ** _Hope this is even the right number, fuck._  
 **_(Zayn, 10:06 PM)_ ** _Sorry to bother you, just wondered if you knew._  
 **_(Zayn, 10:34 PM)_ ** _This is Louis, right? If it’s not let me know so I can double check the number._  
 **_(Zayn, 10:39 PM)_ ** _I double checked the number. It’s Louis. Answer a fuckin text, yeah?_  
 **_(Zayn, 10:58 PM)_ ** _Yo I’m not trying to be a dick I just want a response about H, okay?_  
 **_(Zayn, 11:05 PM)_ ** _Literally takes 2 seconds to type yes or no_  
 **_(Zayn, 11:23 PM)_ ** _I’m worried_  
 **_(Zayn, 11:24 PM)_ ** _Really worried_  
 **_(Zayn, 11:32 PM)_ ** _He was supposed to be home two and a half hours ago..._  
 **_(Zayn, 11:33 PM)_ ** _Not in like a curfew way just like he said he’d be home then, you know?_  
 **_(Zayn, 11:40 PM)_ ** _Haz is never late and I’m freaking out_  
 **_(Zayn, 11:47 PM)_ ** _Sorry to blow up your inbox just let me know the SECOND you hear anything, yeah?_  
 **_(Zayn, 12:34 AM)_ ** _I’m going out to look for him. Still have my phone. Text if you hear anything._  
 **_(Zayn, 1:44 AM)_ ** _Nothing_  
 **_(Zayn, 2:02 AM)_ ** _Tried to report him missing, can’t yet  
_ **_(Zayn, 2:13 AM)_ ** _Please Louis, you understand him. You have to help me find him_

And finally, almost lost in all of the chaos:

**_(Liam, 8:04 AM)_ ** _Call me_

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” Louis swore, rubbing his hands briskly over his face to chase away his sleepiness. It was going to be a long morning.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Louis just showed Harry the phone in answer and watched as Harry’s eyes grew wide with horror. “He- he called the _police_ about me? Where’s _my_ phone?”

While Harry tore the couch apart looking, Louis hurried to type a reply to the panicked roommate.

**_(Louis, 9:46 AM)_ ** _With me, safe. Give me a min and I’ll explain._

The reply was instantaneous.

**_(Zayn, 9:46 AM)_ ** _Thank fucking god. ok. call me as soon as you can mate_

“Louis,” Harry said, voice panicked enough to make Louis’ neck pop when his head snapped around.

“It’s alright, babe, I just texted Zayn. He knows you’re alright-”

“No, my _phone._ It isn’t here.”

Dread dawns in Louis as soon as the words sink in. “Oh shit. You didn’t leave it at-?”

“I know I had it when I was there, but I don’t remember having it when I left,” came Harry’s solemn reply. “Maybe it fell out of my coat when I was on the ground?”

The image comes unbidden to Louis’ mind but he banishes it just as quickly. “Shit. Alright. You know what? It’s fine. Won’t take but a sec to go in and grab it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry says, though his face is crestfallen. “Can you give me a lift over there? If you’re not busy or anything, I mean.”

“Fuck no!” exclaims Louis, then immediately backpedals. “No, not like- I’m not opposed to giving you a lift somewhere if you need it, that’s always fine, but I am _not_ taking you back to his place.”

“Why not?”

It’s a very long time before Louis can formulate an answer, because he’s too busy looking at the wrap on Harry’s wrist and the large purple welt on his jaw. “Harry, love, you can’t be serious,” he says gently, searching the boy’s face. “Okay, have a sit, we need to talk.”

“Louis-”

“Humor me. Please?”

Harry hesitates longer than Louis expected to, but finally nods and sits next to Louis on the edge of the bed. It isn’t even necessary for Louis to see Harry’s face to know that there was dread all over it.

“I don’t mean to sound like your mum, but… I need to know what your plan is. Like where you stand with Thomas and what you’re going to do.”

“I don’t… know.”

“I mean, you don’t have to decide everything right now, but I have to know how to help you, at least. You know? Are we fixing things? Ending them?”

The toe of Harry’s sock starts digging into the carpet, making little straight lines back and forth as he thought. “He hit me,” Harry said at last.

“Yeah.”

“He told me he only let me be around him out of pity.”

“Yeah…”

“He said no one would ever love a stupid slut like me.”

“He’s wrong about literally everything in that sentence, but that’s what he said. Yeah.”

Harry sniffles quietly, and Louis pretends he doesn’t hear. “I don’t think that I can just switch off my feelings for him. But. I don’t think I can stay, either.”

(A choir of angels may or may not start singing Hallelujah Chorus in Louis’ head.)

“I’m- I support you no matter what,” Louis says rather calmly, considering the relief flooding through his body. “And I think this is an incredibly brave decision. I’m proud of you.”

Their eyes meet as Harry swivels his head, and Louis sees that although there is sadness behind those green flecks, there is also decision. It’s not really all that surprising, in the end. Harry is one of the smartest people Louis knows.

“Will you help me to-”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even finish asking, Lou,” Harry reprimanded with a smile.

“Doesn’t matter. The answer’s yes. But it’s double yes because you were about to ask me to help you figure out how to do this, and how to move on, and how to be okay. Right?”

“You’re doing the thing again. The mind-reading thing.”

“Yeah, well. You’re a good book.” Louis winks just to see Harry giggle. “So anyways, the answer is yes. I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. Alright?”

“Alright. Thanks, Lou.”

Louis accepts the embrace that Harry slips around his middle, twisting sideways a little so that his chin is resting somewhere in the vicinity of Harry’s shoulder. “Anytime, babe. But, now that you’ve thought about it some, you know why I can’t let you go over there, right? It isn’t safe.”

Pulling back so he can look Louis in the face, Harry frowns in worry. “Yeah. That makes sense. But- I can’t afford to just leave my phone there.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll go. That’s what I meant in the first place. I’ll just run by and grab it.”

But Harry was instantly alarmed. “It’s not safe for you either! What if he hurts you? He doesn’t like you- sorry, sorry- and he’s mad at me, so who knows what he’d do?”

“I’m not the one whose face he banged up, Harry,” Louis reasons.

“If I’m not allowed to go because of safety reasons, then you’re not allowed to, either. I’m vetoing your plan,” declares Harry with a cross of his arms. He’s got a stubborn set to his jaw that Louis is growing both used to and fond of in equal parts.

It’s convincing enough that Louis stops to take an honest survey of the situation in his mind. They need the phone back, and he isn’t going to let Harry near that flat under any circumstances. Harry isn’t going to let him go, either. But maybe-

“What if I don’t go alone?” he suggested suddenly. “Niall’s yet to lose a barfight, and Liam’s actually the Incredible Hulk. If we all went together, there wouldn’t be any danger. Plus, Liam knows Thomas from footie, so that’ll smooth things over. Yeah?”

“I don’t know…”

Harry’s voice cracks again. Louis’ eyes flick to the bruises. He makes up his mind.

“Babe, trust me on this one. If I thought there would be a problem or that someone might get hurt, there’s no way I’d put myself or the boys in that situation. And you know that I’m usually right about things like this.”

“You _are_ always right,” Harry grudgingly admits.

“That’s a clever lad. So is it alright for me to call up the two of them and go after your phone? I absolutely promise you that we’ll all come back unscathed. I swear on… on my chest piece, of the hurricane. That’s pretty important to me, so, you know. I’m serious.”

Even worried, Harry can’t resist the charm in the smile that follows. “Yeah, alright,” he relents at last, “but only if you bring back food. All you have is beer and some lunch meat that expired two months ago.”

“Done!” Louis crows, and stands to stretch. “Let me just call Li real quick. I know he’s up, he texted. And he’s at Niall’s, I think.”

“Are you sure it won’t be a bother?”

“I’ve got blackmail screenshots of Liam’s browser history and I taught Niall psychology-sanctioned tips for picking up women. I’m sure they’ll readily agree. Let me just hit the toilet real quick, I have to piss- and fix my eyeliner, I’m sure that looks shit.”

Harry’s voice won’t quite carry the too-high tone of mischief, but he gives it a go anyways. “I thought you were going for the smoky eye.”

“You’d better can it, prettyboy, or I’ll go straight to the frozen pizza section of the market. Don’t think I won’t.”

All he hears is a giggle, and that’s quiet enough for Louis.

He manages to convince Harry to hop in the shower with very little difficulty. “You’ll feel loads better,” Louis promised. “Should help your muscles relax. Be careful with your hand, though, I don’t want you hurting it worse.”

“Are you going to leave while I’m in?” asked Harry, brow pulling together in concern.

“I’ll wait ‘til you’re out, I promise. Someone’s got to bandage you up when you’re done, China doll.” For a second, Louis hesitates, knowing that what he needs to ask is going to wipe that silly smile off of Harry’s face. But he knows it has to be done. “Harry… I need to know what you want me to tell the lads.”

Of course he was right, and the grin is instantly gone. “Oh.”

“We don’t have to tell them what happened, or anything at all, really. It’s completely up to you,” Louis assured him quickly. “But I have to know what you want me to say.”

He’s gratified to see Harry actually sit and ponder it, rather than just caving and saying it’s up to Louis like he tends to do. “You can tell them,” he finally answers. “If you want. Just as long as- _I_ don’t want to tell them, if that’s okay? I don’t think… I don’t think I can really talk about it without getting upset yet. And I don’t want to cry in front of them.”

“That’s fine, yeah, of course. You’re being really brave, and I’m proud of you,” he tacks on, just so Harry knows it.

“I’m taking a shower and then sitting around in your sweats while you go run errands for me,” scoffed Harry. “Not really all that brave.”

“Well technically they’re Liam’s, they wouldn’t come halfway down your thighs if they were mine. But actually, you’re opening up and allowing people to help you, which is one of the bravest things anyone can do,” corrected Louis fondly.

Harry looks hopeful as he looks at Louis with equal fondness. “You think so?”

“I know so. Trust me, I’m a doctor. Now go hop in the shower while I call the boys, alright? There’s a good lad.”

Only three rings go by before Liam picks up. “Lou, hey,” he sighs in relief. “I was starting to get worried. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s- we’re alright.  Shit happened last night with Harry, but we’re… dealing.”

“Oh. Is it, um, anything you need to talk about? It’s probably Harry’s business and not mine, but.”

“He said I could tell you. Um, the short version is that Thomas flipped out and messed Harry up pretty badly. Sprained his wrist and messed his face up. He came to me last night out of his mind about it.”

“Shit. But he’s- he’s okay?”

“He’s upset, but he’s safe. And he’s decided he’s done with Thomas, thank god.”

“Jesus. Yeah.”

“Anyways, I need a favor. Well, Harry does, but I’m asking.”

“Anything,” Liam replies instantly. “Whatever I can do to help.”

“I need you and Niall to come round our dorm and go do something with me. We need to- Harry left his phone. At Thomas’ flat. I’m going to go get it so Harry doesn’t have to, but he doesn’t want me to go by myself. You guys free to come with?”

“We’re both free all day, so yeah, of course. Now?”

“As soon as you can, yeah. Want to get it over with, you know?”

“No problem. Let me just grab my shoes and we’ll be over in ten.”

“Thanks? And Li? Don’t tell Niall.”

There’s a pause, and Liam’s voice gets quieter. “You have to tell him _something,_ Louis.”

“I will. Just. He doesn’t need this shit. He’s just a kid.”

“He’s a month younger than me.”

“Yeah, but you’re 45 at heart. He’s still in love with the world.”

“Fair enough. You talk to him then, tell him what you’re going to tell him, while I get ready.”

“Sure. Thanks mate.”

“Course. Here’s Nialler.”

There’s some background noise and a clatter and then Niall comes over the speaker, sounding chipper. “Hello?”

“Niall, hey,” Louis said smoothly. "You busy today?"

"Nah, no lectures or anything. We going somewhere? Sounded like Liam was making plans with you or something."

"Yeah, we were. I just have an errand to run that I wanted you to come along on, if you weren't doing anything."

"An errand?"

"Yeah. Need to pick something up for a friend from someone else's flat. Just didn't want to be going over there by myself, you know?"

"You do realize this sounds hella shady, right?"

"For god's sake, Niall, it's a phone, not a kilo of cocaine." Louis sincerely hopes the other boy can hear him rolling his eyes through the phone.

Niall doesn't say anything for a moment, so Louis just listens to the sounds of the dorm room for a while. The shower is still running, and he can hear Harry singing something low and slow. The sound of it is something Louis files away to compliment him on later, because he can just imagine how Harry's face would light up if Louis mentioned it-

The return of Niall's voice feels almost like an interruption. "Hey Lou?"

"Yeah?"

"This have anything to do with Harry?"

"What makes you say that?" Louis says carefully.

"Liam told me that he needed to crash here because Harry was over your place, and then he sounded so relieved when you called... and also because I'm not an idiot."

"Never said you were, Ni."

"I see the way you watch him. Is he made of glass, or is there something you're not telling me?"

Louis couldn't help but smile a little to himself. _No, not an idiot._ "You've got me. But don't worry about it, okay? I don't need you stressing about stuff in my life. You've got plenty of things to worry about, little brother."

"Yeah, and one of those things is the way my big brother won't be straight with me. Well. Poor choice of words, but you know what I mean." Niall sighed into the phone. "Look, Louis, I understand that you're trying to protect me. I do. But I'm twenty years old and I get to choose which battles I want to fight, yeah?"

"Christ, Niall, is that like a direct quote from me? I swear I've read that in a textbook somewhere."

"Yeah, well, I learned from the best."

With that, Louis relents. "You know Harry's boyfriend, Thomas?"

"The one Liam says is an asshole?"

"Yeah. Well he's reached a new level of douchebagery. Last night he get physical with Harry, messed him up. He's alright, but he's done with the guy. We're going to go rescue his phone."

"Shit," breathed Niall. "Yeah, okay. I'm game for a rescue mission. Anything else he needs?"

"Honestly? Probably just for everyone to act normal. He needs stability today."

"Fair enough. Listen, we're walking out the door now. Be there in a few, yeah?"

"Thanks, man, I really appreciate it. You're an alright kid."

Niall just snorts and hangs up.

Harry is coming out of the bathroom, back in Louis and Liam’s clothes, as Louis closes out the app. “You’re still here,” he said, looking relieved.

“Course I am, I said I would be. Sit down a sec and I’ll fix up your wrist again.”

He obeys without hesitation, plopping down on a kitchen chair and offering up his arm to Louis’ gentle ministrations. “I was thinking, while I was in the shower,” he said quietly after a moment.

“You had time, in between all of those classic rock ballads?” teased Louis gently. “You have a lovely voice, by the way.”

And of course Harry lit up just the way Louis knew he would. “I’m not- it wasn’t- thanks,” he stuttered. “But um, seriously. I was thinking.”

“What were you thinking about, babe?”

“Could you, um, do me a favor? On your way to get my phone. So that’s actually two favors. And you’ve been really nice to me all last night and today so you’re kind of doing me a lot of favors, so if you don’t want to I understand-”

“If I didn’t like doing you favors I probably would have stopped a long time ago,” Louis pointed out, scratching Harry’s head a little to make his point. “But I rather like it. So what do you need, Haz?”

“Could you maybe stop by my place and get all of the clothes Thomas bought me and give them back him? I just want him to know that I’m done. And I don’t want pieces of him in my flat anymore, I just want him gone. Really, really gone.”

He looks so vulnerable and sad that Louis continues to play with his hair until he looked a little lighter. “Of course I will,” he said as he did so. “Are they all in one place? How do I know what’s yours and what’s his?”

“Zayn will know. He’s probably there at the flat, isn’t he?”

“Shit, I forgot to text him,” Louis mumbled, pulling out his phone once more. “But yeah, I would guess so. I’ll make sure he knows we’re coming.”

**_(Louis, 10:36 AM)_ ** _I’m about to be swinging by your place, I’ll explain then. Harry’s going to hang back at mine and relax._

**_(Zayn, 10:37 AM)_ ** _kay_

That taken care of, Louis bumps his hip against Harry to get his attention. “Hey. That’s a really big step, and I’m still very proud of you for it. You’re doing really well with all of this, considering.”

The smile drops right off Harry’s face. “Considering what?”

“Considering the fact that you’ve had your whole world collapse not twelve hours ago,” Louis carefully replied. “You’ve been through a lot and you’re being very strong.”

“Oh.” Harry relaxes a little. “Okay.”

“What did you think I meant?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno. I thought you were gonna say that I was doing really well for someone stupid enough to get into that situation in the first place.”

It feels a little silly when Louis squats on the floor next to the chair where Harry’s sitting with his head bowed. It’s like he’s talking to one of his sisters at their level or something. But at least this way he can look up into Harry’s eyes show him all of the truths he’s telling. “You know I would never say something like that, or even think it. You’re not stupid for loving Thomas. He’s sick, he needs help. That has no reflection on you whatsoever.”

“I _feel_ stupid.”

“You’re allowed to feel that, darling, but if you want my opinion, you’re wrong. Plus,” he tacked on with a smile, “this is my household and I have a strict policy against Harry-bashing. No exceptions. Sorry, but I do make the rules.”

“Are you the man of the house- er, dorm?” Harry giggles.

“Of course. I wear the pants here, Liam knows it.”

“And Liam doesn’t wear pants?”

“Well he does, but mine are much tighter and that gives me authority. I’m pretty sure that’s written in the bible somewhere.”

That’s the moment when Liam and Niall walk in, and the snippet of conversation makes Niall laugh in his unbridled, rambunctious way. “I dunno what bible you’re reading, Tommo, but it’s not in the one I grew up on.”

“Shut up, Niall, thanks.”

“Don’t be cross with me, mate, I left my nice, warm bed for you,” Niall fondly replies. “Oh, Harry, here.”

Harry takes the guitar Niall offers him with a confused expression. “Did we have another lesson scheduled for today? I thought we weren’t going to practice anymore until Wednesday.”

“That was the plan, yeah, but I thought you might get bored today. So. You can mess around with that if you want. Or not. It’s whatever, man.”

There wasn’t a single person in the room who didn’t see straight through Niall’s blushing cheeks to the intentions of gold below. He might not have years of training in how to comfort people, but he had a guitar and some smiles and the unfailing optimism that no one could help but be infected by. And here he was, doing whatever small thing he could to tell Harry, _I’m here for you and I hope you feel better soon._

“Thanks, Nialler,” Harry replied just as fondly. “I need to work on my bar chords anyways.”

“Well why don’t you do that while the three of us go take care of business?” Louis suggested, grabbing his coat off of the hook (Harry must have put it there, because Louis normally kept his coats on the floor) and rummaging in the pockets for his keys.

“Okay. Be careful.” It sounds casual enough that Louis is probably the only one who knows it’s a serious comment.

“Of course. Liam’s along and he’s quite sensible. We’ll be fine.” Louis reaches over to wrap Harry’s arms around the guitar and use them to strum it a few times like he’s a puppeteer and Harry is one big, pliant puppet. “Play. Relax. We’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”

He waits until Harry smiles, gives him a wink, and ushers the other two out the door. Once they’re away from the door and down the hall to the elevator, he gives them a quiet, “Thanks.”

“No problem, we told you,” Liam says warmly.

“We have to make a pit stop first, at Harry’s place. He wants us to take all of the clothes Thomas made him wear and give them back to him. Harry doesn’t want any part of him anymore.”

Liam smirks a little. “You’re really bad at containing your satisfaction at that, Louis.”

“I’m a phenomenal actor, actually,” corrects Louis, “I’m just not trying. In front of Harry I’m like, absolutely neutral.”

He ignores it when both boys snort in disbelief.

Zayn must have been waiting just inside the door, because as soon as Louis knocks it opens and there he is, ushering them inside. “Louis, hey- oh. Hey. Who’s this?”

“Sorry, forgot to mention. This is my roommate Liam and my friend Niall. They’re- well, let me start from the beginning.”

“Yeah, do. How’s Harry? Why didn’t he come? He alright?”

It isn’t any easier to tell the story the third time around, but Louis does it anyways. “Harry and Thomas got into a fight last night. Well, more like Thomas fought and Harry didn’t fight back. He shoved Harry, messed up his wrist. Punched him in the jaw and messed his face up. He’s okay, though, just a little banged up,” he says when Zayn looks faint and sinks into a nearby chair.

“I knew something was wrong,” Zayn murmured, sounding like he’d been strangled. “Harry’s never late. I tried to report him missing, but you have to like, wait for a certain amount of time-”

“It’s not your fault,” Niall threw in, like it was one of his own friends that needed comforting. “You tried your best, man. Harry knows it. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“Exactly,” agrees Louis. “Anyways, he came to me. He was freaking out, said that Thomas had said a bunch of terrible shit to him. Cried for hours.”

Zayn stands up again and turns away with his arms crossed. “What kind of shit?”

“Not really sure if I should tell you.” If anyone asked, Louis would say ‘because it’s Harry’s story to tell.’ But really, it was the tension in every line of Zayn’s body that had him hesitating to speak up.

“Tell me. I need to know. Please.”

Louis relents. “The same old shit. That Harry’s a slut, and a fag, and stupid. Doesn’t deserve to be loved. Isn’t worth anything. Just the same old shit.”

“Fucking lies,” Zayn spits. “I’m gonna kill that fucker, he can’t just _say_ that shit to Harry. Gonna break his fucking _face-”_

All of a sudden, his fist is slamming into the drywall, leaving a dent and a puff of dust to show for it. Niall’s closest, and he darts forward to grab Zayn’s elbow before he can go for round two. “Hey. Chill, man.”

“‘Chill?’ I can’t just chill, you heard what he said-”

“Yeah, and fucking up your fist on a wall doesn’t help,” Niall points out. “And you might want to hang a picture over that before your landlord comes by.”

Liam is hanging back by the door, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Louis cleared his throat. “Harry’s done with him now, though. Completely. He decided this morning.”

“Fucking right, he is.”

“Yeah, I think it’s safe to say we’re all relieved,” Louis agrees drily. “We’re actually on our way over there now. Harry left his phone, we’re going to go get it for him.”

“Yeah? Cool, let me just grab my keys-”

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea, actually. No offense, but you sort of just punched a hole in the drywall,” says Louis gently. “Not sure you’re in a state to be dropping by to visit your roomie’s ex just now.”

Zayn’s completely deadpan as he continues pulling on his leather jacket. “Would you rather I go by myself later, when there are no witnesses and no one to tell me to cool it?”

“Fair enough. But for the record I still think this is a bad idea.” Louis sighed and moved to the kitchen, grabbing a couple of trash bags from beneath the sink. “Harry said you could help- he wants us to gather up all of the stuff Thomas used to make him wear and send it back. Said you could pick out whose is whose?”

“Nothing could make me happier,” Zayn smugly replied. He took the garbage bags and moved into the bedroom, rifling through dresser drawers and pulling out piles of folded tees and baggy jeans. “You can tell what’s Thomas’ choice because it barely even touched Haz. Wasn’t allowed to be proud of his body at all.”

Privately, Louis thinks what a shame that is, given that Harry is one of the fittest lads he knows. Publicly, though, he doesn’t say a word.

The four of them soon pile into Louis’ little car with the bags of clothes and make their way through the streets. The closer they get to their destination, the more the tension in the vehicle builds. “Remember,” Louis tells himself and the others, “this is not a confrontation or an intervention. We’re here to drop off the clothes and pick up the phone. That’s it. Okay? Nothing else.”

But it certainly _feels_ like something else as they traipse up the stairs, single-file, and as they stand before the door, Louis at point and the others behind him with arms crossed, and as they wait with hard eyes and high chins for Thomas to answer their knock. It feels a bit like war.

“What the fuck?” is the first thing Thomas says upon opening the door and seeing four faces looking back at him. Then he picks out familiar ones. “Oh. Liam. Fag 1. Fag 2. And company. What do you all want?”

“What, you’re not going to invite us in?” Louis chirps, moving forward so he can slip by Thomas into the flat.

But Thomas has thrown out an arm to block his path. “Uhh, how about not.”

Liam made his way to the front of the pack and jerked a chin towards the space behind Thomas. “Come on, man. You don’t want to do this in the hallway, alright? Don’t make a fucking scene.”

“Why the fuck are you even hanging out with the rainbow crew here?” snapped Thomas, but he must have seen the sense. Reluctantly, he dropped his arm and let all four file past him into the apartment.

Louis’ heart leapt into his throat when he saw the splintered table over by one wall. He tried not to think about what Harry probably looked like laying among the broken pieces. Zayn’s eyes are locked on the rubble, too, and his gaze is burning.

“Look, I’ll make this quick and simple for you, Tommy boy,” declares Louis firmly. “We’re here on business. Ambassadors of the nation of Styles to tell you that you’re officially excommunicated.”

“Excuse me?” Thomas asks, looking like he just smelled something foul.

“Harry’s done with you,” clarifies Louis. “You’re not friends, you have no benefits, and if you’re smart you’ll just avoid him completely. Done. Period.”

“I don’t think it’s your fucking place to say who I hang around, fag.”

Louis just looks at him and snorts. “They’re not my words, they’re Harry’s. Which reminds me, we brought you a present.” He nods at Niall, who tosses the two garbage bags at Thomas’ feet. “These are the clothes you picked out for him. He doesn’t want them anymore.”

“Is this a joke?” Thomas looks back and forth between the four faces before him and the two bags on the ground. “This has to be a fucking joke. What are you, his bodyguards?”

“Friends, asshat, we’re his _friends,”_ Zayn supplies with a scowl. “Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“You can shut the hell up,” retorted Thomas. “Both of you. And all of you can get the fuck out.”

“Cool it,” Liam orders. “We came here to get Harry’s phone. Give it to us so we can go.”

“And _you,_ Payne! What are you hanging around these faggots for?” He’s stepping towards Liam, his body all done up in lines of aggressiveness. “Thought you were better than that. I actually _liked_ you, but turns out you’re just a little pansy. Huh? Is that what you are?” He reaches out and shoves Liam’s shoulder, barely enough to move him.

 _“_ Don’t you put your hands on him!" Zayn snapped. Niall puts out a soothing hand on his arm- or maybe a restraining one. Either way, Zayn stays put. That doesn't mean he looks any less murderous, though.

"You all act like it's me who's the problem here," Thomas continued, oblivious. _"He's_ the one who's fucked up in the head! It's him that's always on his fucking knees begging for me like some little cockslut! It’s about the only thing that little fag will ever be good for.”

That's when Zayn loses it.

 _"You shut the fuck up about Harry!"_ he roared at Thomas, lunging for the larger boy. Thomas staggers back a bit in surprise, but contact never comes. Niall has Zayn by the waist, holding him back with every ounce of his Irish fight. “You think you’re so fucking bad, pushing people around, but you’re not! You’re a coward! You’re a fucking coward!” He continues to scream and strain against Niall’s arms until he’s dragged from the flat completely. Louis hears the struggle continue all the way down the hallway and into the stairwell.

But Thomas doesn’t stay distracted for long. He’s looking back and forth between Liam and Louis in mixed anger and disbelief. “Go to hell, and tell Harry he can go, too,” he spits. “I don’t give a shit whether he wants to come around here again. He doesn’t mean shit to me. In fact, if I ever see him within twenty feet of me again, I’ll finish fucking up that stupid face of his myself.”

Everything in Louis’ head gets a little still, then. It’s like time slows down, and he’s got his eyes going over every inch of Thomas’ body, reading his secrets in the way his feet are positioned and the tremble in his right hand and the place on his chin where he cut himself shaving. It’s in the smear of deodorant on the bottom of one sleeve, and the way he flicks his eyes around the room, and the way his left hand tugs at his earlobe.

It’s all right there for Louis to read, like one very boring book on what’s going on in the head of the man before him. And it doesn’t take long to get to the paragraph where Louis knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Zayn could not have been more right when he declared that Thomas was nothing but a _coward._

So it’s a simple decision, really, when he steps up to Thomas and gets within an inch of his face. "I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he murmured dangerously, so low that only Thomas could hear him. “You've obviously got your own issues, so whatever. Go to fucking therapy and work them out. But I cannot, I _will_ not, stand by and let you use some innocent kid as your punching bag or your blow job dispenser. He is a fucking _human being_ , and he's probably the best person you'll ever meet. So if I _ever_ get wind of you fucking with him or talking to him or breathing his oxygen again, I will come back here and I will shove my fist so far down your throat you'll be able to taste the ink in my shoulder tattoo. Do I make myself clear?"

The silence that follows is all the answer Louis needs. “Harry’s phone, please,” he tacks on cheerfully, taking a step back.

Thomas remains silent as he moves to the TV stand, picks up the phone, and chucks it in the general direction of the door. Liam snags it out of the air and pockets it with a slightly sour, “Thanks.”

Louis locks eyes with his roommate and nods towards the door. “Well, sorry to dump and run, but we’ve got to be on our way. Do have a nice day, won’t you?” Liam’s already out the door, and Louis follows, but pauses with his hand on the door knob. “Oh, and Tommy boy? Remember our talk.”

The sound of the door shutting behind him is probably one of the most satisfying things Louis has ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters in the whole piece <3 Doncha just love it when nice boys have to get mean to protect the innocent? ;)
> 
> Canonlarry | tumblr


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: homophobia, homophobic language
> 
> ...but mostly just cuddling

There’s a look of mixed fear and admiration on Liam’s face as he watches Louis pass him and start leading the way to the stairs. “What did you say to him, Lou? Jesus.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But you got up in his face and he just _gave in,_ just like that-”

“I said don’t worry about it, Liam,” Louis repeats, but it isn’t unkind. It’s just better that Liam doesn’t know what it looks like when Louis uses his powers for evil. He still believes Louis’ a superhero, after all.

Niall had managed to get Zayn all the way to the bottom of the stairs when Liam and Louis caught up. “Everything good here?” Louis asked tentatively, taking in Zayn’s stormy expression and Niall’s sympathetic one.

“I think we’re good,” Niall replied. “Yeah, Zayn? You good?”

It looked to Louis like he was far from it. “You guys go ahead,” he suggested to Niall and Liam, who took one look at Louis’ appraising face and made their exit. Louis just continued to search Zayn’s face. “You going to be alright?”

“Fucking pissed.”

“Yeah, I noticed. You should be. I am, too.”

“Really? Because you look like you’re really chill about all of this.”

The words are meant to bite, but Louis laughs instead. “Yeah, well, I’ve got a face for theatre. And you weren’t there to hear me threatening to make his insides outsides.”

Brown eyes meet blue with grudging amusement. “You seriously said that?”

“Well, that wasn’t the exact threat, but that was the general idea.” That even got a laugh, and the anger started draining out of Zayn’s body faster than he could plug up the leaks and keep it in. Louis started again, gently. “We’re going back to my place. We dropping you off first, or you want to come along and hang with us and Harry?”

“With you,” Zayn says quickly. “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, mate, but you’re going to have to cool it. You know it’ll stress Harry out if you’re all keyed up. So. Think you can be chill?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Zayn said, then nodded to himself. “I can be chill. Just. Pissed. You know.”

“I know, mate.”

“I’m going to have a quick smoke, to calm me down. You uh, you want one?”

He offers up the cigarette like it’s nothing, but Louis knows far better. It wasn’t that long ago that Harry was telling him how _Zayn doesn’t let anybody smoke with him. Ever. He has a thing about it._ It also wasn’t that long ago that Zayn looked at him with a lot less fondness- or at least respect- than he does now, though.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he simply replies.

When they return to the car, Niall and Liam are laid out on the hood, howling the lyrics to a song on the radio into the midday sky. “Oi, get off!” scolded Louis, shoving each off in turn. “Don’t think I won’t make you walk home.”

Liam snorted. “You promised Harry you’d pick up food on the way home, and you don’t have any money. You’re not leaving me anywhere.”

“Excellent point. Can we get a move on, please?”

At the market, Zayn helps them pick out all of Harry’s favorites and Louis and Liam buy them all- even the ones that Louis’ sure will only be eaten when Harry’s around (“Whole grain spaghetti? But don’t you have to, like, _cook_ that?”). It was almost a little embarrassing, how openly they were all trying to make this a good day for Harry, except that he wasn’t at all ashamed.

It was worth it, anyways, to see how happy Harry was when they all traipsed in together. “Louis!” he said excitedly. “And Liam! And Niall! And- oh, hey Zayn! What are you doing here?” He got just a little nervous then, hand instinctively going to cover his jaw before he forced himself to lower it and face the music.

Louis’ careful eyes caught the way that Zayn’s inhales and exhales were markedly deep and steady. Deeper and steadier than normal. His face was a little flushed, too, and his eyes a little cold. If you looked closely enough, you could see the temper he was going to lengths to keep in check.

But on the outside, Zayn just walked over to Harry, pushed his fringe back, and gave his forehead a tender peck. “Hey, Haz. Louis said the party was over here. Said I could join if I wanted.”

“Oh.” Harry looked like he didn’t know whether to be relieved or excited. Eventually he settled on both. “Is everyone staying? Are we all going to hang out?”

“Of course we are,” Louis chirped, unpacking groceries. “It’s officially an event. Complete with trays of cubed fruit, apparently? Who knew that came already cut up. Huh. Anyways, it would have been a black tie affair, but frankly I’m not sure I own a black tie.”

“You do,” supplied Liam helpfully. “That silk one, remember? I think it disappeared into that box of toys beneath the bed though,” he adds wickedly.

“I’m going to need you to shut your mouth, Liam, thank you,” Louis said with a blush over the roar of laughter from across the room.

By the time the groceries are all put away and snacks are out, Liam has pushed the coffee table to the side and pulled his mattress to rest on the floor in front of the couch. “There are too many bodies in here for that tiny sofa,” he reasons, which Niall takes as an invitation to steal all of the pillows and blankets off of the two beds and build a nest there on the floor.

Harry’s nudged into the center of the couch, in between Louis and Liam. Zayn joins Niall in the nest, leaning back so that his head is touching Harry’s knee. It’s perfect, really, because they’re all wrapping around Harry, forming a protective circle of blankets and boys and boisterous humor.

No one says it out loud, but everyone knows the truth: Harry is priority number one today. Specifically, making him feel good. It’s a little different for everyone, their personalities shining through in the ways they doted on him.

For Liam, it was attending to his every need. He would get up to refill Harry’s plate every time it was empty, offer him the remote every time a show went off, made sure that the blanket was wrapping around him all the way to his toes.

Niall, on the other hand, preferred to contribute in the form of an endless supply of chatter. “How’s that F chord coming along, Harry? The other day I saw this dude with the same hair as you, so weird. Do you want to hear about the time I got so drunk I pissed in the boot of my brother’s car? You should try Hawaiian pizza, mate, the pineapple is so good.” It delighted Harry, who answered every inquiry and laughed at every story with enthusiasm that almost rivaled Niall’s own.

Even Zayn took the time to laugh along with Niall’s adventures, until he got restless and went in search of paper. Liam offered up the flyleaf of one of Louis’ textbooks (“It’s not like he’s going to use the book, anyways.”) and Zayn was immediately drawing, turned around to face the group instead of the TV.

“What are you drawing, mate?” Niall asked curiously after a bit, peering over Zayn’s shoulder.

At first, Zayn defensively clutched the page to his chest, angling his body away from Niall. But it only took a few seconds of looking into those earnest, innocent blue eyes for him to relax and show him the page. “That’s incredible, Zayn,” he said seriously, eyes flicking back and forth between the sketch and Harry. “It looks just like him. Incredible.”

“Are you drawing me?” asked Harry self-consciously. “Stop. Don’t do that. Draw- I dunno, draw Louis. He’s prettier than me, he’ll make a better model.”

“He might break his pencil trying to capture my stunning cheekbones,” deflects Louis, partially because he’s still shit at taking compliments and partially because he understands that this is how Zayn shows he cares. To Harry, it’s a pencil sketch. To Zayn, it’s a tribute to how big of a place in his heart Harry has to call his own.

Harry continues to protest, just like he protests every time Liam tries to fetch something for him, but Louis just gently shushes him. “They need to do this for you, Harry,” he explains in a whisper when the other three are engaged in a lively discussion about something on an advert. “Let them take care of you, yeah?” He sealed it with a gentle pat to Harry’s head and a smile aimed just at him.

Because for once, it was Louis’ way of caring for Harry that was the quietest. It was sticking by his side on that couch even when he was antsy and wanted to jump up and do things. It was always managing to have an arm around Harry’s shoulders, or his waist, or a hand buried in his hair. It was making it a point not to wince every time Harry’s face was angled so his bruise was showing, and shooing everyone away from the hurt wrist, and noticing the frown that came over him when his thoughts turned to Thomas so that he could give a distracting little nudge and mumble the corny kind of jokes that Harry was so very fond of.

He couldn’t be sure, but maybe Harry grew a little brighter under the ministrations of his four friends.

A little later, when they’re all full of food and collapsed on various surfaces, Harry’s got a look on his face that’s so blissfully happy that Louis sort of wants to make him stay there forever. Everyone looks pretty happy, actually, with Liam wrapped up in his blanket and Niall and Zayn laying very close on the mattress nest as they watched whatever stupid show was on now. Louis certainly felt happy. Harry was tucked contentedly under his arm, and that was what Louis had set out to do.

Harry cleared his throat very quietly, and the way everyone turned to look at him straight away was an excellent reminder that this was actually one giant, Harry-centric cuddlefest, and not just the five of them having a sleepover. “Um. I just wanted to tell you guys thanks,” he said softly. “Because I know why you’re all here. And. It means a lot to me that you are. Here.”

“Of course,” Liam replied, nudging the boy with his elbow. “Where else would we be? That’s what friends are for.”

“Just wanted to make sure you feel all safe and stuff,” adds Niall helpfully. “And like, protected.”

“I do, I really do.” There are tears in Harry’s eyes, but Louis isn’t too alarmed. There’s a smile on his face to match them. “I- needed this. But I don’t think I could have asked. So thanks for- for knowing, I guess? Just for knowing what I needed. Even if it’s kind of a stupid thing to need.”

“It’s not at all stupid, Harry,” Louis quickly corrected, looking stern. “It’s perfectly natural to want to feel safe and loved when you’ve recently been hurt.”

“And it was someone you really cared about, too. So I think it’s pretty okay that you need us to show you we love you and we aren’t going to hurt you like that.”

Harry is quiet for a long minute. “I think the difference is that you all love me back. Like, even a little. But. Thomas didn’t. He made that pretty clear.”

For a second, it’s clear that no one quite knows how to respond to that. Finally, Liam speaks up. “I know Louis’ kind of got the market cornered on talking things through, but if you ever need to talk about it… I’m here. And so are these guys, I’d say.” Niall and Zayn chorus their agreement.

“Only when you’re ready, though,” Louis notes. It’s really more of a reminder to the boys than to Harry, but it makes him smile anyways.

“I want to talk about it, I think,” says Harry. “I want to be okay about it. And I know that’s not going to happen overnight, but. I guess that just ‘dealing with it’ didn’t work for eight months. So I don’t think it’ll help now.”

“Probably not, no.”

There’s a loose thread on the blanket covering him, and Harry picks at it while he chooses his words. “I think the worst part is that I’m worried he might be right. You know? Like what if he wasn’t just messing with me when he told me all of those horrible things? If it’s true, he might be the best thing I’ll ever have. And I don’t… I don’t want that. To be true.”

Louis almost jumps in to say his bit, to assure Harry that everything out of Thomas’ mouth was a lie and that he deserves the world. But he pauses. _Let the others have a chance. Let them take care of him, too._

The first one to react is Liam, wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders and just snuggling up to him. Harry glows brighter. “I haven’t known you very long, mate,” Niall chimes in, “but I can tell you deserve better than him. You’re really great, and he was really… shit.” Which for Niall was pretty poetic.

“I’m with Niall,” confirmed Zayn. “I remember you from when we were kids, and you were always so cheerful and bright, and just… great. And he like, put out your light. But you’re getting it back, Haz. And I think this helps.”

Louis couldn’t have said it better himself.

They drift off to sleep one by one. First was Niall, snoring away, and then Zayn, stretched out diagonally so that he’s using Niall’s shoulder blades as a pillow and his feet are hanging out from underneath the blankets. Liam is the next to go, his head leaned straight back with his body wedged into the corner of the sofa and his mouth wide and drooling.

Harry and Louis hadn’t spoken or moved in ages, and even though he couldn’t see the younger boy’s face, the steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest made Louis think that surely, he was already dreaming beneath all of that dark hair. His own eyes closed. He wondered how many nights in a row he’d be sleeping sitting up for Harry. He wondered why it didn’t bother him more.

“Thanks.”

The quiet voice makes Louis’ eyes snap open. He still can’t see Harry’s face from this angle, but the voice was unmistakably Harry’s. “You already thanked us, babe,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, but. It’s different. With you. A different kind of thank you.”

“Oh. Why- why is it different?”

“Maybe not _different._ Maybe just _more._ Like. You’re always like, instantly there for me. I feel like I’m your priority, and I just- I dunno. I’ve never had anyone make me a priority before.”

And it’s funny, because if there’s one thing that could be Louis’ mantra, it’s “You are your own first priority.” He says it all the time, to anyone who will listen, because people are so caught up in pleasing each other and taking care of others’ needs that they forget to love on themselves and do what’s best for themselves sometimes. It’s his favorite thing to tell people when they’re stressed about what their parents will think of their new major or when they need to spend a day in bed after their dog dies.

But here, now… he can’t quite take that advice. If Louis were his own number one priority, he probably would have kicked everyone out so he could sleep in a proper bed. He probably would have sent Harry home as soon as he was stable last night. And certainly, he would have been better off never starting to feel like it was his responsibility to take care of this kid tucked under his arm.

It’s too late for that, though, because he’s stopped thinking “responsibility” and started thinking “privilege” and maybe just this once it’s okay if Louis is his own number two.

“You matter to me,” he says simply. “Very much. So don’t worry about it, okay? I’ve got you.”

Harry sits up a little so he can turn and face Louis. “Can I tell you something, Lou?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Are you sure? It’s really important.”

“Absolutely. I’m here for you.”

“I just want you to know…”

“Yes?”

“You get _really_ cheesy late at night.”

And it’s all Louis can do to stifle his snort of laughter, half at the unexpected humor and half at the way Harry’s face is so cheeky and full of pride at his own wit. It’s in such stark contrast with last night’s Harry, who sat on this very couch with tears streaming down his face, desperate and wild and raw. This was not the same Harry, it seemed to Louis now, who had leaned over and pressed their lips together just because he needed to feel something real.

“Why are you blushing?” asked this Harry curiously.

“What? I’m not blushing.”

“You definitely are, Lou.”

“Go to sleep, Harold, you’re loopy.”

That must have been a satisfying enough answer for Harry, because he just returned to his little ball by Louis’ side with a contented hum. _Just like a little cat,_ Louis thought later, as he drifted off to sleep. _A little kitten with his claws sunk right into me._

It isn’t that terrible of a thought, after all.

He doesn’t notice that Harry’s gone until he goes to stretch out in his sleep and realizes that he _can._ There’s a Harry-shaped spot next to him on the couch that should not be empty. Louis pried his eyes open, and the glow of the TV lets him see that everyone else slumbers on while Harry is suspiciously absent.

There’s light coming from the crack beneath the bathroom door, though. Louis tries to keep his eyes open long enough to wait for Harry’s return, taking the opportunity to pop his joints and shift around so that his bum won’t be quite so numb in the morning. _No more sleepovers unless I get to sleep in my own bed,_ he resolves. His eyelids flutter as he waits.

But Harry doesn’t come back. Louis tries to think of how long it’s been since he half woke up. Thirty seconds? Thirty minutes? The clock says it’s 3:49 AM, and he holds that in his mind while he tugs his hair roughly to wake himself up. By the time he can consistently keep his eyelids open for more than two seconds at a time, it’s 3:57 and Harry is still in the bathroom.

Sleepy legs tremble in their effort to support him as Louis picks his way through the minefield of boys to the bathroom door and knocks softly. “Harry?” he calls softly after a moment of silence, but still there’s still no reply. He tries again, louder- nothing.

A mumble comes from somewhere behind him and the increasingly loud murmurs of Harry’s name are cut off when Louis notices all three boys shifting in their sleep. He bites his lip. Is it worse to leave his curiosity about Harry unattended, or to wake up the three people still slumbering quietly away?

One more quiet knock goes unanswered and Louis can’t help but compromise. His hand falls on the doorknob, and it isn’t locked, so he sends up a quick prayer to the heavens that Harry isn’t taking a shit or something as he twists the handle and opens the door.

No one’s there.

The light is on, but all Louis sees is the greying tile and the rows of hair product that are always there. It doesn’t make sense; even half asleep Louis knows this isn’t right. He’s still trying to figure it out when the shower curtain moves ever so slightly.

There’s a small, sad sniffle from the tub and suddenly Louis is feeling a lot more awake. He shuts the door gently behind him and approaches the curtain like you would a wild animal. “Harry? Y’alright?” he murmurs, knocking on the curtain rod nervously. “I know you’re in there.”

“M’fine,” comes Harry’s quiet reply. He’s sniffling. He isn’t fine.

“You’re not fine,” Louis tells him. “Can I- er, can I come in?”

The pause that follows is long enough that Louis starts to worry whether he’s going to be sent away and made to sit on the couch and fret for as long as it takes for Harry to be okay again. But then pale fingers wrap around the edge of the curtain and pull it back just the tiniest bit. It’s an invitation.

“Thanks, mate,” Louis sighs with relief as he climbs through the hole. Harry’s curled up on the end without the spigot, knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around himself. He doesn’t look Louis in the eye when he enters.

So Louis just quietly sits facing him, his legs as criss-crossed as they can be in this narrow space. He folds his hands, then unfolds them, then cracks all of his knuckles, then twiddles his thumbs, all while waiting patiently for a response. None comes. He reaches out to poke Harry’s bare feet, and they’re like ice. Louis wonders how long he’s been sitting here like this.

“You’re freezing,” he tells Harry disapprovingly, then unfolds his legs and scoots forward until his legs surround Harry and his bum is right on those frigid toes. They wiggle experimentally beneath him, and he snickers a little despite himself. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

And that’s it for the moment. Louis leans forward and rests his head on Harry’s upright knees, watching him play with the phone he has cradled in his lap. He doesn’t push. Harry breathes, and Louis breathes, and together they wait for something happen.

Apparently, the something they’ve been waiting for is Harry’s words. “He texted me,” he confessed quietly. “Thomas did.”

Louis has a bad feeling about this already. “What did he say?” Harry opens his mouth to answer, chokes on it, and just hands the phone to Louis while he scrubs a lone tear from his cheek.

**_(Thomas, 1:23 AM)_ ** _You know I don’t care that you’re gone, right  
_ **_(Thomas, 1:31 AM)_ ** _And your stupid fag friends didn’t scare me. Too much of a pussy to come yourself?  
_ **_(Thomas, 1:45 AM)_ ** _Shoulda just finished fucking your face up when I had the chance.  
_ **_(Thomas, 1:55 AM)_ ** _I love how you said you’d NEVER tell anyone, but then you turned around and told every little fag on campus. What a stellar guy you are. DICK  
_ **_(Thomas, 2:02 AM)_ ** _You better not breathe a fucking word of this to anyone else. I will find you and I will finished what I started, you understand me?  
_ **_(Thomas, 2:03 AM)_ ** _Don’t think I won’t.  
_ **_(Thomas, 2:25 AM)_ ** _Just wanted you to know that I’m the only person on this planet good enough to put up with you. I hope you like being alone, little slut, because that’s all you’ll ever be._

Louis’ first instinct is to reach around the shower curtain and drop the phone right into the toilet and flush it away to the sewers where it belongs- with all of the rest of London’s shit. He settles instead for deleting the message history and tucking the device into the pocket of his own sweats. “I’ll have none of that in my shower, thank you.”

It doesn’t make Harry smile like Louis had hoped. “Why can’t he just leave me alone? I’m trying really hard to be okay…”

“I know you are, babe,” Louis replied over the sound of his heart breaking. “You are doing so, _so_ well with all of this, honestly.”

“Is it always going to feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“All raw. And achy. And just… not good. Because I feel okay when I don’t think about it, but every time I do, it just… it hurts. A lot.”

Louis wants so badly to be able to tell him that everything magically goes away if you stick through long enough, but he doesn’t really like to lie. “I don’t know, darling. I can’t tell you how you’re going to feel tomorrow, or next week, or next year. You won’t know that until you’re there.”

_Sniffle._

“But I can tell you that you can only go up from here. You’re going to work through this, and you’re going to feel better. I dunno when, but I know you will. And- and I know that I’ll be there to help you out, yeah? I told you I’ve got your back, and I mean it.”

Harry looks up for the first time, and Louis sees the dampness in his eyes has mostly dried up. “I can’t come and cry in your shower every time he texts me,” he mumbles.

“Try the bed next time you need a cry, it’s much warmer. Or wherever I am, actually. Wake me up or whatever. Not that he’ll be texting you anymore,” Louis amended.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Louis, please don’t try to do anything about this-”

“Harry. Would I do that?”

“Yes.”

“Well. Don’t worry about it.” Louis plants a loud kiss on Harry’s knee cap and scoots back to give him space, wincing when the spigot jabs him right between to shoulder blades. “Ah, fuck. Can we get out of the tub now? You need socks. And a jumper. And a bed probably wouldn’t hurt either.”

It’s a very tiny smile, but it’s there on Harry’s lips, and Louis accepts that as victory when he stands and tugs Harry to his feet as well. When they’re standing this close, it’s easy to see how Louis only comes up to his shoulder. It comes as a surprise, almost: Harry always feels so small and fragile when Louis holds him.

When they open the bathroom door, the first thing they see is a dogpile of Liam, Niall, and Zayn all crowded with their ears pressed to where the wood used to be and looking guilty as could be. “Sorry,” Liam is first to venture. “We just- we were worried.”

“Thomas is a dick,” adds Niall.

Zayn nods. “And he’s totally fucking wrong, whatever he said about you.”

“Off the floor, all of you,” says Louis mildly. “Everyone to bed. Properly. Harry, you sleep in mine. _No,_ don’t argue. You’re injured and you slept on a couch last night, that means you get a bed. Zayn, you wanna squeeze in with him? Since you’re flatmates and all.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“I’ll take the couch,” volunteers Liam.

“Which leaves me and you in the lovenest, Tommo,” Niall says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Louis rolls his eyes and shoves off the arm Niall’s slung around his shoulders. “Don’t be a twat about it. Everyone to bed, now.”

He waits until he can hear snores from two boys, mumbles from one, and feel on his arm the slobber of the last before rising from the mattress and slipping through the dorm as quiet as a whisper. Coat. Shoes. Hat. Carefully, _carefully,_ keys.

The sun is already coming up by now and it makes Louis feel like he hasn’t slept in a week, to see everything so bright and shining and to feel so much like crawling back into the dorm room, with his blackout curtains and his lazy Sunday plans. He makes quick work of his errands, only gone for maybe a half an hour before he’s back home, crawling in next to Niall and letting the warmth of the room melt the frostiness from his skin.

In the morning, when they ask him why he’s got a hoodie and a hat on, he tells them he got cold last night. He doesn’t tell them about the way his bank account is a few pounds emptier after stopping at the store to get a _Congrats on your coming out!_ balloon, or the way his hands froze over when he stopped on the doormat in front of a nearby flat to scribble a quick note, or the way his mind kept spinning to the look that must have been on a certain uni student’s face as he opened it up to read.

_Remember our talk, Tommy Boy._

He doesn’t tell them any of that, because Liam still believes in superheroes and Zayn would have his own ideas and Niall thinks Louis’ the sun and Harry might not have it in his heart to understand that sometimes you have to play a little dirty to get things done. And if that means a little mind game to remind everyone what’s at stake, well, so be it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, an entire chapter of unapologetic fluff

It’s a slow process, watching Harry put himself back together.

Two whole weeks have passed, and while things are different for him, much is still the same. He still looks surprised whenever people give him a hug or ask him how he’s doing. He still looks at himself a little dispassionately when he walks by a mirror, and always, _always_ looks at Louis when making a decision to make sure his choice is alright.

But the changes are there, too, and Louis makes sure to praise them at every opportunity. Harry wears all his own clothes now, skintight jeans and catalog-perfect outfits that he seems to put together with so much care. He stops assuming that every time someone laughs, they’re laughing at him, and the more they tease him, the more he learns to tease back. He starts speaking up, too. Asking for things that he wants, sharing what he thinks. The first time Harry called him a twat, Louis smirked for an hour.

He helps Harry in every way that he can. Part of that is in listening to Harry talk about all of the things that happened with Thomas, in gently correcting and teaching and reshaping. But the other part of it- the part that’s quieter, but maybe just as important- is Louis making sure to just be _there._ It doesn’t take a genius to see how he sometimes frets, or how he’ll relax whenever someone is around just because he gets to remember that he isn’t alone.

That’s maybe the quietest thing of all about Harry’s recovery- those casual little touches he seeks out just to know someone is there. Sometimes he would sit down on the opposite end of the couch from Louis and move his feet so that his toes would just barely graze Louis’ thigh. Other times, he didn’t even have to seek it out. Louis would make some grand gesture as he told a story and make sure that as his hands fell, his fingertips would leave a little trail down the side of Harry’s arm or give a tiny tug to a stray curl.

Always so quiet. Just a little whisper, a little _I’ve got you_ that only Harry ever heard

Thomas is gone, truly and properly gone. He was MIA for a few days after Louis’ present showed up on his doorstep, and then according to Liam he dropped out without explanation. Liam was the new team captain, and everyone but the four of them wondered where their star player had gone. Louis breathed easier. They _all_ breathed easier.

Meanwhile, Liam and Niall fall steadily even further in love with Harry. He’s like the little brother they never had, except that they’re never annoyed with him and always seem to want him around. Louis and Liam’s dorm has become the gathering place for the four of them- five if you counted Zayn, who started coming around just about every time he wasn’t in class. There’s a sketchbook that lives on top of their refrigerator now, just for him. None of them seem to mind that their friendship has been forged by a twisted man and a broken boy. They’re here, and they’re now, and that’s enough for them.

So it’s nothing unusual that one Friday night, Liam, Louis, and Harry find themselves all lazing around the dorm at nearly two in the morning. “I should get home,” Harry said. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was or I would have left earlier.”

“Nah, it’s too late,” Louis replied with a yawn. “It may only take five minutes to get back to your flat, but your luck you’ll get mugged along the way. Just stay here, yeah?”

“Oh. If you’re sure-”

“Hush. Of course I’m sure. Alright with you, Li?” But Liam is already asleep on his bed, fully clothed and only half under the blanket. Louis snorts a laugh and briefly debates taking a picture of the puddle of drool beneath his open mouth. “I think he’s fine with it,” he simply tells Harry.

Harry grins, too. “Okay. Do you have a blanket or something? I can just use the pillow already on the couch, that’s fine.”

“The couch? Don’t be silly. You're a giant, Harry, there'll be more of you hanging off than there is actually on." Louis glances up from where he’s digging through his dresser for sweatpants to find Harry looking confused and concerned. “My bed’s more than big enough for two. You can just sleep with me, yeah?’

“I don’t- I don’t know…”

“This doesn’t have to be weird, Haz,” Louis says gently. “I really don’t mind. Obviously there’s enough room, because you slept in my bed with Zayn the other week, remember? So as long as you’re comfortable, I don’t see why we couldn’t both sleep in the bed.”

It’s that soft, ‘I’m only looking out for you’ tone that Louis so often uses with Harry, and it eventually has Harry nodding hesitantly. “I’ll, um. Do you want the side by the wall or the aisle?”

“Either one, doesn’t matter.”

And so it is that Harry climbs gingerly into the bed and scoots over until his back is pressed against the wall. He’s very still beneath the covers, his eyes jammed shut and arms pulled in to his chest like if he thought hard enough, he could physically reduce the amount of space he took up in the world.

Louis shuts off the lamp on the bedside table and climbs in as well, making himself comfortable on his stomach with arms wrapped around his pillow and face nestled into it. Liam had made him do laundry that morning, so the pillowcase even smelled like lavender and soap. It was really rather soothing- perhaps he should wash things more often.

But no matter how pleasing his detergent was, Louis was still awake a half hour later. It’s probably because he can sense the discomfort that borders on panic that is radiating off of Harry. Finally, he can’t take it anymore. "You okay, Harry?" he whispers into the darkness.

Harry clears his throat, obviously surprised that Louis is still awake. "Oh. Yeah, I'm um. You good?"

It doesn’t escape Louis’ notice that there wasn’t actually an answer anywhere in there. "I'm fine,” he replies calmly. “I want you to give me truths, though. What's got you so nervous?"

"Noth- okay. It's just. You know I'm not going to do anything to you while you're asleep, right? I would never."

"Wait, _what?"_ Louis props himself up on his elbows and swivels his head in Harry’s direction. Even though he can't see a thing, he's searching in the dark for a green eye, a furrowed brow, an answer, maybe. "What are you talking about?"

"I just want to make sure you know I'm not going to do anything to you. So you can go to sleep and not worry." Harry's voice is so quiet and small it's a sub-whisper.

Louis almost flicks on the lamp, desperate to get a look at what's going through Harry's head right now. He doesn't, though. After all, some things are easier said in the dark.

"What kind of things would I have thought you were going to do?" he asked gently.

"I don't know. Um. Touch you. Like. Inappropriately."

"Harry, it never even crossed my mind to think that," Louis exhaled, slightly in shock. "Why would you be worried I'd think that?"

"Thomas did."

And yes, it was definitely best that the lights were out. Louis didn't even have to hide his wince. "He thought you were going to touch him while he slept?"

"Yeah. He never... he never let me stay the night. Because of that. He said I'd probably try to like, rub one off on him. Or um. You know. Take him. While he slept."

Through barely unclenched teeth, "He said that he thought you would rape him?"

"Well, yeah. Because I was a fag."

There's a little, pregnant pause after that, because Louis is reminding himself of the importance of inhaling and exhaling. "What did you think about that?" he managed at last.

The sheets rustle a little, and Harry must be shrugging. "I didn't think that I ever would. But. I didn't know what to say. He was so sure."

"Can I tell you what I think?"

"Yeah. Always yeah."

"First of all, there is absolutely nothing about being gay that means you're going to rape someone. Just like being a brunette wouldn't make you more likely to rape, or being a lefty, or being 5'2". And second..."

Before he can think better of it, Louis reaches out and lets his hand come to rest on where he thinks Harry's arm should be. It's there, and it doesn't flinch away. "And second, I think that you're one of the kindest and gentlest people that I've ever met, and I trust you unconditionally never to hurt me, okay?"

It takes Harry a moment and a clear of his throat to answer. "Okay. Thanks, Lou."

"Of course, Haz. Always.” The darkness feels too thick, too heavy, so Louis smiles into it. “And you don't have to squish up against the wall, you know. You're twice as big as I am, so you get at least two thirds of the bed."

A giggle cuts through the quiet, so Louis adds a point to the scoreboard in his mind. The bed moves as Harry shifts around, inching from where he’d wedged himself until he was taking up at least a normal portion of the bed. Somewhere in all of the motion, an overlong leg brushes against Louis'. "Sorry," Harry rushes to whisper.

"Doesn't bother me," Louis informs him with a yawn, and the Harry’s exhale of tension has his concern giving way to that peaceful, nearly-asleep daze. "If you haven't noticed, my personal space doesn't go too far beyond my skin. Spoon me for all I care." Harry doesn’t, of course. He just lies there, so quiet and still, until Louis has given up on hoping for a response and is very nearly asleep.

It wasn't until a long time later that he realized the silence had just been a pause for Harry to hide in while he contemplated variables Louis was too tired to fathom. The back of Harry’s hand came to rest against the curve of Louis’ side, warm skin against soft cotton. It wasn't much. It was more than enough to craft a smile on Louis' face as he drifted, finally, to sleep.

But by the time they wake up, the story is much different. There is more than a hand pressed to Louis’ side, but an entire boy wrapped around him, their limbs tangled together. Harry was on his stomach with his arms around Louis’ middle and his face pressed into Louis’ neck. Louis was on his back beneath him with one thigh trapped between Harry’s and the other leg hitched around Harry’s hip. One hand was lost in curls, while the other rested lightly on smooth bicep.

 _Harry’s going to freak out when he wakes up,_ Louis thought sleepily. Especially since they both had undeniable, unavoidable morning hard-ons pressed into each other’s hips. With the haze of sleep still tugging at his mind, Louis can’t really be bothered to care about whether he and his fragile friend are wrapped around each other like pretzels. Harry, though. He’ll care.

And of course Louis is right- he’s nearly always right. Fifteen minutes later, the giant lying half on top of him inhaled, stretched just a little, and settled back into Louis with a murmur and a nuzzle to his collarbone. That is, before Harry’s brain caught up with his body and he scrambled backwards away from Louis as fast as he could before his back hit the wall.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to- ,” he’s apologizing before he’s even blinked the sleep from his eyes. He notices the trouble between his thighs and blushes even darker. “Oh my god. I’m so embarrassed. I am _so sorry.”_

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis yawned, stretching the kinks out of his limbs. “We’re dudes. It happens. Seriously, no worries.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Harry. Mate. It’s far too early for you to be this stressed.”

“I didn’t mean to be like, all over you,” Harry mumbles regardless. “I guess I just really like cuddling. And I know it’s weird, I just- I guess I forget not to be weird about it when I’m asleep.”

Louis waves his concerns away with a sleepy, uncoordinated hand. “I just told you last night I have a personal space that’s microscopic. You didn’t bother me at all. And it’s fine that you’re a cuddly person. What’s wrong with being cuddly?”

“I’m a man,” sighs Harry. “Men aren’t supposed to like cuddles. I’m just… I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m so gay.”

Which of course makes Louis’ eyes snap right open. “Sorry, did you just _apologize_ for being gay?”

The expression ‘deer in the headlights’ comes to life on Harry’s face. “I- yes? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say something wrong-”

“No, no, it’s alright. Well, what you said isn’t, but it’s alright that you said it. Can I- can we talk? For a minute?”

“Are you going into counselor mode?”

“Don’t be a twat,” Louis says with a gentle smile, scooting himself upright. “I’m going into ‘worried about my friend’ mode.”

Liam suddenly lifts his head from the pillows and shoots them a scowl from the forgotten other half of the room. “Could you worry about each other a little quieter? Or whatever the fuck you’re doing. I’m trying to get some bloody sleep here.”

“How about you shut the fuck up, Liam?” Louis shot back sweetly. “And didn’t your practice start fifteen minutes ago?”

_“Fuck.”_

Louis waits patiently until Liam has stumbled around to gather his gear and made it out the door to turn his attention back to Harry. “It’s Saturday, he doesn’t have practice,” he says as a matter of conversation. “But that’s what he gets for being rude.”

“Isn’t he going to be mad when he realizes-?”

“Probably. But we’re not worrying about Liam right now, we’re worrying about you.” His eyes are watching Harry’s face very carefully, taking in the frowning concern there. “Do you… do you really feel that way? That being gay is bad?”

“I mean…” Harry pauses, licking his lips and fretting as hard as he’s ever done. “It is, isn’t it? That’s what I’ve always been told. That it’s disgusting, and wrong, and- just _bad.”_

It isn’t the first time Louis’ heard that kind of sentiment, but that doesn’t make him want to vomit any less. “Who’s told you that, Harry?”

“Thomas.”

 _Of course._ “How do you know Thomas is right, though?” Louis ventured carefully. “And I'm not saying that to be a prick, I mean, I'm not all-knowing. But... what is it that makes you so sure that he's right about that?”

“I don't... I don't know…” And he obviously _doesn’t_ know. Harry has the look in his eyes of a man whose foundation is getting a good shake.

“Does it _feel_ right?” Louis continues no less gently.

That gives Harry a lot of pause. Finally he stutters out, “N-no. It doesn't. I don't know why it doesn't feel right, but-”

“Can I tell you what I think?”

“Of course, Lou.”

He’s so wide-eyed, so trusting of Louis to tell him the truth and make things clear for him. It reminds Lou to check all of his lecturing and his ranting and just be the friend that Harry needs. “I think that the only person who can decide what lifestyle is right for you is _you._ No one else should be able to shame you for it or tell you it's wrong just because they don't like it or understand it.”

“That sounds… better. Righter.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Louis sighs in relief. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been that Harry would disagree until the response had fallen from the younger boy’s lips. “Would you ever want to bash someone for the way that they live?” he pressed on.

“W-what? No way! Of course not!” Harry stuttered, eyes wide.

And Louis _knows_ it isn’t a fair tactic. He’s breaking every rule he’s even been taught, just by saying it, but- “Do you think that _I'm_ disgusting and wrong? Because I'm gay as a rainbow, Harry. So if Thomas is right, I'm a worthless fag. Does that sound right to you?”

The low blow lands just as painfully as it was intended to. “What? Louis, no! You're not- no way. You're _Louis,_ you're not wrong, you're... you're... Lou.” By the time his voice quiets into nothing but shallow breaths of protest, Harry looks close to tears.

“Hey, hey, it's alright,” Louis quickly moved to soothe. “I'm not trying to get you worked up or anything. But... it sounds to me like you don't really feel that Thomas' ideas are right. You say that they are, but you don't _feel_ it. Does that make sense?

Harry nods, slowly. “It... you're right. It doesn't make _sense_ though. Why don't I believe him? Why do I think he's wrong? Because that never did feel right. I _knew_ what he was saying made sense- or, I thought it did, but… I never felt it. Why?”

“Because you're a human being, babe, and you get to make up your own mind,” Louis answers proudly, because it might make Harry embarrassed if Louis says that it’s because he has a heart of gold and enough brains for the both of them. He just keeps smiling and gives Harry an encouraging pat on the knee. “Never be ashamed of what you feel, or ashamed to _say_   what you feel, yeah?”

“It's okay to be gay.”

“Wait. What?”

“It's okay to be gay,” Harry declared again. “That's what I think. I say that, and it feels right.”

Now it’s Louis’ turn to have tears in his eyes, though a very different kind. “I'm proud of you, you know that?” he asks quietly. “You're the bravest person I know.”

“Yeah, well. It's not like I could have figured this out on my own. Feelings are stupid.”

“Yeah, they are,” Louis agreed with a laugh. “And I’m a professional feelings expert, so I would know. Feelings are _definitely_ stupid.”

“I'm not though,” adds Harry after a pause, like he had to mull it over to make sure it was true. “I’m not stupid. Thomas used to say I was, but I'm not.”

Louis, for one, could not agree more. “No, babe, you most definitely are not.”

They don’t talk about it the rest of the day. They don’t talk about it the next morning, either, when all five are lounging around Zayn and Harry’s flat playing Mario Cart for hours straight. Harry is too busy getting his butt kicked by Liam and Niall while Louis eats pizza on the couch with Zayn. There is just enough of Louis’ attention not taken up by gooey cheese and warm crust to watch from behind as the three boys seated on the floor before him joked and jostled and yelled at one another in a way that seemed blissfully, beautifully normal.

He was reaching for his fourth slice (fifth? sixth? who cared) when Zayn nudged him softly. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” Louis answered in a tone just as quiet, though the others were far too engaged to be listening anyways.

Zayn’s face was thoughtful, as it usually was. “Thanks.”

“For?”

He just looks at his roommate, who is pushing curls back out of his face and swatting at Niall’s controller to throw him off. “I don’t think you realize how much you’ve done for him.”

Louis doesn’t want to, but he blushes. “Oh. It’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing. He’s so much better. You know what he said to me this morning?” Zayn swallows, looking a little misty-eyed. “He told me he’s glad he’s gay, because that’s who he’s meant to be. He spent like, eight months in love with a _homophobe,_ and he can say that now. You’re… incredible. So. Thanks.”

And that is apparently that, because Zayn turns his attention to the screen to shout encouragement at Niall without waiting for Louis to respond. Which is fine, because it’s taking a second for Louis to compose himself anyways. Those aren’t tears in his eyes. There’s just a lot of jalapeno on this pizza, that’s all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter whatsoever! Wouldn't my mum be proud :')

It was actually Niall who first brought up the idea of bringing Harry out of his shell. “We gotta get you to a party, mate,” he told him when Harry announced he’d be spending another Friday night in. “You’ve been at uni for two and a half months now, and you have, what, _four_ friends?”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with having a small group of friends,” added Louis defensively. “The size of your social circle is entirely your choice.” _Niall, I swear to god if you give this kid a complex about his social life-_

“I think I’d like to have more friends,” Harry said slowly. “I mean- it’s not that you’re not all great. But I like people.”

“And people like you,” Niall declared. “You’re like Louis, bloody charming all the time.”

Harry just looked simply delighted to be compared to Louis. “So how do I get, like, invited to parties?”

“You just have to know people. And luckily,” said Niall with a wiggle of his eyebrows, “you’re friends with someone on the footie team _and_ this little socialite. Any of your friends throwing a party this weekend, Tommo?”

“Erm. I wouldn’t know,” Louis said honestly. He’d been spending most of his time this semester with Harry and the lads, at the expense of his friendships with all of the other misfits on campus. Which probably wasn’t such a bad thing, in the end. The idea of Harry hanging out in some grungey, smoke-filled flat in the sketchy part of town was almost funny enough to laugh at.

Niall was undeterred. “What about you, Li?”

“After I used my new team captain authority to scare them all out of drinking too hard and throwing off their game? Probably not.”

“Damn. Okay. Uh, Zayn?”

“We’re art students. We don’t really party…?”

“It’s up to you, then, Niall,” Louis said with a smirk. “Your idea anyways.”

“I just hang out with whoever’s around me dorm,” Niall replied with a shrug. “Although- I think one of the lads upstairs is having a little get-together tonight! Not like a _party_ party, but. You know. People and alcohol in a room having a good time, so.”

There was still some nervousness in Harry’s face, but his eyes were bright and enthusiastic. “That sounds okay. Could we- is it okay if we go? If I go, I mean. But. We, really, because I don’t want to go by myself.”

“I’m in,” Louis immediately supplied. _There’s no way I’m sending you into a strange situation by yourself, that’s for damn sure._

The others quickly chorused their agreement, and so a plan was set in motion. Liam and Niall had one last class of the day, and Zayn insisted he needed to do some work back at their flat, so Harry and Louis were left to their own devices for a few hours. Most of the time was spent watching a movie. The rest of it was Harry fretting and Louis assuring him that yes, his outfit was fine, and no, he wasn’t supposed to bring anything, and of course, Louis would stay with him the entire night if he wanted.

They made their way to Niall’s dorm, the designated meeting place, almost a half hour early. Louis didn’t mention how being early to a party was literally the only time punctuality was a bad thing. “Let’s at least just hang out at Niall’s room for a bit first,” he said gently, guiding them to the other boy’s door.

Inside, they found not only Niall, but also Zayn, side by side on the bed looking at something on Niall’s laptop. The smile Zayn wore was brighter than any Louis had ever seen him give, with his constant state of quiet, brooding contemplation. “What’s this, then?” Louis teased, making both of them jump in surprise. “Having fun without me?”

“Hey guys,” came Niall’s smooth reply. “Just waiting on Liam, then? Or is he coming separately?”

"He has a meeting with some lads from one of his classes for a group project or something," Louis shrugged. "But he’ll be by in a bit."

“Good, yeah,” mumbled Niall. “Shall we, erm, go, then?”

And so they went, with levels of excitement ranging all the way from Zayn’s calm nonchalance tinged with amusement, to Harry’s trembling anticipation. Louis wanted to reach out and grab his hand, to stop the trembling, if nothing else. He didn’t. He continued to debate it all the way upstairs.

This was definitely the perfect engagement for Harry, though. The dorm in question had about ten people in it, once their group had arrived. No one tried to push drinks on them, or made a show of getting intimate with one another, or anything else that might have Harry’s knees locking up like a startled baby deer. Really it was just like at home, where they would all hang out and watch telly and play guitar and eat. The only difference was a few new faces- and that seemed just fine with Harry.

If anything, it was Louis who had a tough time relaxing into the swing of the party- he was spending so much time watching every twitch of Harry’s face that he couldn’t quite enjoy himself. It was only after 45 minutes of Harry looking content that he pinched his thigh and gave himself a stern and silent lecture on trying not to be such a mother hen.

He pried his eyes from Harry, who was sitting quietly by his side on the couch watching everything with sparkling eyes, to have a look of his own. Zayn and Niall were over by the drinks table, leaning to talk into each other’s ears over the music. Apparently Zayn was hysterical, because Niall’s laughter was as obnoxious and unabashed as ever. Liam still hadn’t made an appearance. Hopefully he hadn’t gotten too caught up-

“Hey, how’s it goin?” someone asked nearby.

He opened his mouth to answer as he searched for the source, but it soon became apparent that the question was not directed at him. The person talking was a chubbyish, ginger-haired man with a friendly smile and a worn tee shirt on. And he was looking directly at Harry.

“Hi, I’m good. You?’ replied Harry with a tentative smile.

“I’m great. Ed Sheeran, by the way. Don’t think we’ve met?”

“I don’t think so either, I haven’t really- I’m Harry. Styles.”

Another friendly smile, and a handshake that seemed oddly formal for a room full of tipsy uni students. “Nice to meet you, Harry Styles. You um, want a drink? I noticed you weren’t drinking anything…”

Which had been Harry’s intention for the start. He still refused to fess up to what kind of drunk behavior he found so shameful, but Harry had declared on the way over that he would _not_ be drinking, lest the alcohol ruin his fragile social experience. So when this guy- Ed- came over to offer Harry a drink, Louis expected him to just stutter out an embarrassed ‘no thanks’ and that would be that.

But that’s not what Harry did. Instead, he tore his eyes from Ed to look questioningly at Louis, as if asking permission to answer. It was almost funny. Louis could almost laugh at the meek way Harry still sought his guidance, except that Harry was a baby bird who needed mama bird Louis to nudge him from the nest and that was really quite a serious matter.

“You don’t need my permission,” he answered as lightly as he could, smiling first at Harry and then Ed. “How’s it going, mate? I’m Louis.”

“Hey, yeah. I think I’ve seen you around. Sorry, are you two-?”

Harry was clueless as to what Ed was asking, but Louis needed no clarification. Two guys, one openly gay, sitting on the couch together at a party with only half a millimeter of space between them usually didn’t indicate ‘just friends.’ “No, no,” he replied smoothly, ignoring the uncomfortable wrench in his gut. “We’re not together.”

“Oh. Well in that case, I’ll be right back with a drink for you,” said Ed brightly as he turned and made his way to the kitchen with a pleased smile.

He wasn’t the only one that was grinning from ear to ear, either. If Harry got any more enthusiastic he might burst, if the look on his face was anything to go by. It made a scowl tug at Louis’ mouth for some unknown reason. How come Harry was so excited about this guy? What was so great about him? Wasn’t Louis interesting enough? Why was some random guy handing him drinks suddenly more interesting than Louis?

“Just make sure the drink he hands you isn’t opened,” is all he grumbles.

And it might be true that the more engaged Harry gets in that conversation, the grumpier Louis gets. He’s watching every twitch of their faces, especially once he’s finished reading Ed like a book. _Music student. Gay. Easygoing. Likes his drinks, but not obnoxious. Callouses from guitar. Speaks eloquently- a writer, or could be one. Little care for personal style. Affectionate. Considerate. Good person._

And the fact that he can find zero reason to dislike the man now stealing all of Harry’s attention might just make that feeling in his stomach- jealousy?- a little worse.

His beer starts to get warm in his hand, because he forgets to drink it. He forgets to do anything but watch the banter between Ed and Harry, actually, until someone nudges his shoulder. Liam has apparently just arrived, looking tired but friendly. “Hey mate.”

“Hey. How was the meeting?”

“Boring. Much rather be here, to be honest. What, that drink not good?”

“What? Oh.” Louis swirled the almost-full bottle a little absently. “No, it’s fine.”

“Are _you_ good? Never known you not to finish a drink, Lou.”

The question and the joke both make Louis scowl in the general direction of the carpet. “I’m tired,” he says blandly, which is true enough not to be a lie, but off-topic enough not to let Liam know what’s really bothering him. “You want the rest of this?”

“My mother taught me never to accept open drinks at a party.”

“I promise I’m not going to drug you,” Louis snorted, pressing the bottle into Liam’s hand.

“Good to know. Jesus, Lou, did you put this in the microwave? That’s disgusting.”

“Oh. Yeah, sorry, it’s been open for a bit.”

Liam was looking at him ever more carefully. “Why don’t you just go home, if you’re not feeling up to the party?” he asked as quietly as he could given the environment. “No one’s going to blame you if you do.”

It was tempting, given how he was approximately 3000% done with watching Ed try to charm Harry- and watching it work. But- “I can’t. I can’t ditch Harry like that, I told him I wouldn’t leave him on his own with a party full of people he didn’t know.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Liam offered at once. “I was gonna stay until the end anyways, since I got here late.”

“Are you- are you sure?”

“Positive. You can go if you want, I promise I’ll take care of Harry.”

Ordinarily, there was no one that Louis could trust to do a job as well as him, and a job as important as the protection and nurturing of Harry wasn’t one he’d want botched. But if there was another person on this earth capable of it, it was Liam. And Liam he trusted implicitly.

“Yeah, I think I will,” he sighed, smiling up at his best friend. “You’re coming back to the dorm tonight, yeah?”

“Definitely. I’m having lunch with me mum tomorrow, I can’t afford to be crashing on couches tonight.”

“I’ll see you when you get back then. Or in the morning, probably. Don’t be a twat and wake me up or anything.” Louis turned to Harry, and gave him a gentle nudge. “Sorry to interrupt, but- I’m gonna go. I’m, er, tired.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry cheerfully replied. “Let me just throw my bottle away-”

“No, you don’t have to leave. Liam’s here, so you won’t be alone or anything-”

But Harry is already standing and striding off to find a rubbish bin, so Louis sighs and stands as well. “Later, man,” he says to Ed, who’s standing and looking a little uncomfortable with his hands in his pockets.

When he returns, bright-eyed Harry makes sure to exchange numbers with his new friend. Louis babbles something to Liam and pretends he doesn’t feel like scowling.

“You really didn’t have to leave,” he says when they’re walking out of the dorm complex.

“I didn’t want you to be walking home by yourself,” comes Harry’s reply.

“What, you’re going to protect me from muggers and other miscreants of the night?” Louis’ snort is a little derisive. “You couldn’t fight off a butterfly.”

“I could fight off a mugger!” Harry said, quite offended. “I’m really tall, and I work out all the time-”

“Yeah, but would you actually take a swing at another person? Harry, you rotate what pen you use so that all the ones in your bag get equal treatment. I really doubt you’re going to be punching out muggers.”

“Oh. Is that- bad?”

Harry’s light is fading, Louis can hear it in his voice. “No, of course not,” he rushes to assure the younger lad, setting his grumpiness aside. “You’re just a gentle spirit, that’s all. That’s why I’ll drop you off at your place before I go back to mine.”

“Is that safe? You’re gentle, too.”

“Not _that_ gentle,” laughed Louis. “Besides, I have neck tattoos. No one mugs a guy with neck tattoos.”

Harry laughs, and it’s all okay, even if Louis can’t muster more than vague mumbles in response to Harry’s excited chatter about Ed the whole way home. There’s a bounce in his step that Louis’ never seen before, so he takes it in quite carefully. He briefly wonders whether Harry ever gushed about him that way, but pushes that thought away as quickly as it comes.

“Well, here we are,” Harry says awkwardly when they’re outside his and Zayn’s door.

“Yeah, I’ve been here before. I know.”

“Right.”

 _What is this, a first date?_ Louis thinks to himself with a barely-contained smirk. An awkward night, an uncomfortable pause outside the door… is this the part where they both wonder whether to kiss?

He settles instead of fondly thumbing the dimple on Harry’s cheek. It gets deeper under his touch, as Harry smiles ever wider. “What’s that for?”

“What? Nothing, nothing. Sorry, I’m drunk. Goodnight, Harry,” he says as he backs away, still smiling to himself.

“Goodnight Lou,” Harry quietly replies. “Be safe.”

The idea of first date awkwardness with Harry continues to rattle around in Louis’ head on the trip home, and during his shower, and as he crawls into bed. It only gets stranger the more he dwells on it- _Harry_ and _him?_ They could never- he wouldn’t- they were just _friends._

“Don’t be fucking weird, Lou,” he mumbled to the ceiling. And with that, he rolled over, pulled the blankets around his shoulder, and shut out the world in favor of thoughtless sleep.

…………………

It probably shouldn’t have upset Louis that much, to hear Harry say that he was going to Ed’s show. I mean, duh. Of course he was. Ed was a musician. Harry loved music. They’d been texting each other nonstop, they were friends. There was pretty much no universe in which Harry would _not_ go to Ed’s show, when news came that he was playing a small gig on the other side of London. Of course Harry was going. To get upset over that was absolutely crazy.

Louis felt absolutely crazy.

The first sign of trouble should have been that he didn’t let Liam know where he was going when he grabbed his wallet and his coat and left. He always told Liam- _always._ The man was half his roommate and half his mother, and he always got so worried when Louis stormed off in a mood. Even though Louis spent ninety-nine percent of his time being a little shit in order to piss Liam off, he never crossed that line of _deliberately_ making him worry.

But tonight, he left no note, sent no text, made no courtesy call. It was probably because he didn’t really want to admit, even to his best mate, that he was planning on going to the nearest bar and drinking himself under the table- and why? Because he had an unexplainable shitty feeling about a perfectly nice guy that was flirting with his completely platonic pal.

And he _definitely_ wouldn’t want to admit how familiar everyone at the bar was with him. “Tommo!” said the barkeep with a friendly smirk. “Been a while since I’ve seen you in here, eh? Thought you’d gone straight on me or sommat.”

“Dunno whether you’re talking about alcohol or making a joke about my sexuality, but the answer is an emphatic no. Give me your signature, yeah? Actually just go ahead and make two.”

“Strong?”

“If you’ve got the straight up ethanol that works.”

“One of those days?” asked the guy two barstools over. He looked friendly enough, maybe 28 or so, all dressed up in a dark suit with a neat grey tie. And he has green eyes, which happen to be Louis’ favorite. It helps convince him that he should be polite and answer back.

“One of those weeks, more like. Oh- thanks, Aaron.” He accepts the matching drinks- something mixed, a deep red and potent- when they’re handed to him, taking a gulp as soon as he could get one to his lips. “God, that burns,” he says, pulling a face. “I’ll be ordering about five more before the night’s through, just a head’s up.”

Aaron smirked again. “I’d expect nothing less.”

Louis was perfectly content to guzzle his drinks in silence- the faster he drank, the sooner he’d be drunk and forgetting the nasty feeling in his stomach- but the guy down the bar was undeterred. “I take it you’re a regular?” he tried again.

“What tipped you off? I mean, isn’t everyone on a first name basis with their bartender?”

“Well, that and the fact that you’re talking about downing seven of those. I can smell it from here. Is that gasoline mixed with fruit punch, or what?” Louis nodded- halfway through his second, he could definitely confirm those were the contents. “You’re just a tiny little thing, so if you’re going to drink all that, and this guy’s going to serve it to you… you must have an _incredible_ liver.”

“I’m popular with the Irish students, yeh,” Louis grinned, pushing his empty glasses forward for Aaron to collect and refill- which he did, wordlessly. That was why this happened to be his favorite bar: he’d trained the staff out of even trying to lecture him about the pace he set or the amount he consumed. They let him get as drunk as he wanted, and in return he purchased large quantities of overpriced alcohol from them on a fairly regular basis.

“I’m Eric,” Stranger said, stretching out a hand to Louis.

The alcohol hadn’t hit Louis’ system yet, which meant he was sober enough to internally roll his eyes. _Yes, because it’s not completely obvious that you’re hitting on me._ He shook the hand anyways. “Louis. Thank you for not asking if I come here often. The way you phrased it was a refreshing change of pace.”

“People actually use that line still?”

“More often than you’d think.” Drink number three, and there was just the tiniest hint of vertigo pulling at Louis when he turned his head. “I just count it as a victory every time I make it through a drinking session without hearing one of the punny ones. I’m obviously not from Tennessee, I’m fucking British. Horrible line.”

“You seem irritated. Did the fall from heaven not suit you? _Kidding,_ geez,” laughed Eric when he saw Louis’ scowl. “I hope you laugh more at my jokes when you’re on drink seven than you are on drink four. Which, by the way, I’m impressed that you can stomach all that so fast.”

It was flirty enough that Louis knew that he should probably go ahead and shut the guy down. Why he was a near-thirty businessman hanging out in a gay bar that catered to college kids was a mystery, but obviously he had ideas about where this conversation with Louis was headed that were not in line with Louis’ own plans. Which is not to say that he was, in general, opposed to those types of plans. He was a bit of a partyboy, to be honest, and the bulk of his sexual encounters were one night stands with various guys involving various amounts of alcohol. Which he was fine with, largely speaking. It’s not like sex was this huge, sacred thing- it was just sex. Sex was good. And more sex was more good, right?

But even as the alcohol starting sapping away his ability to follow the flow of his own logic, Louis realized that tonight, this was not his plan. He wasn’t seeking out sensation, he was seeking out oblivion. So he should shut Eric down, quickly and firmly, and save them all a load of confusion and mixed signals.

(Unfortunately, drink five was just around the corner, and that’s usually where Louis started talking way too much.)

“Well, if you’re such a fan of the cheesy lines, would you like to know what brings a girl like me to a bar like this?” Louis drawled after a pause and several sips.

“I only did it ironically! But sure, babe, why not.”

“M’not your babe, but I will freely admit that I came here tonight specifically to get so shitfaced that I can’t remember my own name. And Aaron’s a doll and won’t try to be a mum about it.”

“That’s certainly very nice of you, Aaron.” Eric smiled at the barkeep, who was handing over drinks five through six.

“It is,” Louis affirmed, his smile coming easier than it had all week. Mmm, bit floaty in here, wasn’t it? Or was that just him? “Aaron knows what I’m on about. Good lad, Aaron.”

“Back atcha, Lou.”

“Is it your average, everyday kind of binge drinking, or did someone try to chat you up in a spectacularly awful way and you’re trying very hard to forget it?” pushed Eric. He’s moved over to the stool right next to Louis’- a fact that Louis notices even on drink five.

“Sort of, but it’s not me that got chatted up.” It just sort of slips out.

“Uh oh. Someone hitting on your boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend, Eric, you sly thing,” Louis giggles. Why is he giggling? He doesn’t normally giggle, he’s pretty sure. Drink six is tasty.

“Then I’m confused,” Eric replies, though his smile doesn’t seem too concerned. “Who is it?”

“It’s my good mate Harry,” Louis informs him.

After that, things start getting a little fuzzy. It’s kind of hard to pay attention to Eric when there are so many things to look at. And so many people to text- Louis _loves_ to text people when he’s drunk. Which he might be. The room seems a little less stable than usual, perhaps.

He does remember that it took a while to convince Aaron to give him drink seven, because apparently Louis seemed “out of practice” and “sort of like he might pass out.” Which is silly, because Louis feels fantastic. Better than ever, actually. Eventually he gets his seventh drink- Aaron is just so lovely, isn’t he?

And he also remembers wondering at some point whether Evan- that was his name, yeah?- was actually Christian Grey in disguise. He had a grey tie on. Maybe it was a hint. Maybe he would tie Louis up if he was very polite. Tie him up with a tie. Tie. That was funny, Louis was pretty positive.

Which is how he got to the point where, after drink seven was done and gone and Louis was swaying back and forth on his stool as he hummed a tune he didn’t know, he found himself simply charmed to death by Evan. “I like your tie, please,” he informed him seriously. “It’s lovely. Name it Aaron.”

“I have a lot of ties at home,” Evan said with a laugh. “Do you want to maybe come back to my place? I could show you all of them, if you like it so much.”

“Ties? What? I’m very confused. I don’t know why we’re talking about ties. Are we talking about ties?” Louis is very confused. He doesn’t know why Evan is talking about ties. Silly Evan. That’s silly.

The smile on the other man’s face is starting to falter. “You complimented my tie.”

“Oh. It’s nice.”

“Right.”

“Why do you like ties so much? You keep talking about them, I think. I’m not sure.”

“I’m not really even talking about ties-? I was just making a joke so I could have you back at my place.”

“Okay, but I need to be wearing panties when I meet your parents,” Louis informs him, because he’s pretty sure Christian is into that.

“Wh- what the fuck?”

“I just want to be honest with you, Amanda. I mean Amelia. No, wait. Anastasia.”

“I- my name is Eric…?”

And that just hurts Louis’ feelings, because- “You can’t just start roleplaying without telling me first, Annie. I don’t remember our safeword.”

Lovely Aaron swoops in. “Okay, Lou, I think you’re done for the night. Let’s call you a cab. If I were you,” he said warningly to Anna, “I’d just leave. He’s obviously plastered.”

Louis would tell him that he’s definitely not anywhere close to plastered, but he’s sort of forgotten what plastered means and anyways, Angela is gone so he’s trying very hard to focus on Aaron’s face instead. Lovely Aaron. Maybe he’ll get to drink eight if he smiles really hard. Yeah, that ought to work. Isn’t smiling funny? He should take a picture of that. Niall would think it’s funny. Yeah, Niall. He’ll take a picture of himself smiling, and then in the morning he and Niall can look at it and laugh because it’s just so-

He’s passed out before he even manages to get his phone out of his pocket.

………………….

It’s not the first time that Liam has gotten a late-night phone call from a bartender about Louis being too plastered to even tell the cabbie where he lives. Hell, that’s why he put that card in Louis’ wallet saying “IF DRUNK, PLEASE RETURN TO LIAM PAYNE” and listing his phone number. So much easier that way.

It is, however, the first time such a call has made him this relieved. Usually it meant that Liam was inconvenienced by having to go to whatever joint Louis was in that night to make sure he got safely home. But this night, it meant that at least he knew where Louis was. He hadn’t left a note- Louis _always_ left a note.

“Yeah, no, I’ll come get him. Sorry about that. You’re off Banner Street, yeah? Got it. I’ll be by as soon as I can. Thanks. That was a bar, Louis’ there,” Liam informed Niall as he hung up the phone with a relieved sigh.

“Wasted?”

“Definitely. You want to come with me? You know how excited he is when drunk, not sure I can distract him enough to get him home.”

And Louis _is_ excited when the two of them arrive. He’s been sat in a booth at the back with a cup of coffee so he won’t disturb anyone or fall off his stool. “Lads!” he exclaims. “I missed you so much. I love you. I missed you when you were gone!”

“We weren’t gone, Lou, we were at home. You were here, at the bar.” Niall helped the drunk stand on his feet with much assistance, while Liam went to make sure Louis’ tab was paid.

“Yes I was! I was having a drink with someone. I can’t remember who. But someone. And they wanted to take me home, but Lovely said no and he gave me coffee.”

“‘Lovely’?”

“Yes! He gave me a lot of drinks but then he made me have coffee.”

“The bartender,” Liam explained to Niall under his breath. “Said right after he cut Louis off he passed out at the bar, so they called me. “

Niall threw his head back and laughed. “Jesus, Lou. How drunk are you? Never knew you to be a lightweight.”

“He’s lucky he didn’t go home with whatever guy he says he was talking to,” Liam just says concernedly. “He’s so flirty when he’s drunk- it’s not like him to be the one being flirted _with._ Come on, Louis, you have to actually move your feet so we can walk you home.

“I’m not so very drunk,” Louis protested, head bouncing back and forth between the boys tucked under each arm, holding him up. “And of course I didn’t go home with him. He was all wrong. Not Harry enough.”

Liam laughed so hard he thought his throat would burst. “Did you just- did you just say he wasn’t hairy enough? What, was he bald or something?”

“No, not _hairy._ I meant _Harry._ Like Styles. Like Harry Styles. I like Harry Styles.”

A blissful little smile comes across Louis’ face as he says it, and when Liam’s eyes find Niall’s he sees that the other lad is just as shocked as he is. “Louis,” Liam said carefully. “Did you just say that you like Harry?”

“Well of _course,_ Liam. Don’t be stupid. Harry makes my stomach flip flop. I want to tell him his eyes are pretty and snog his stupid face off.”

“What else do you want to do to him, eh?” Niall snickered.

“No, Niall, shut up,” muttered Liam. “I think he’s serious. Lou?”

“Of course I’m serious. Harry’s a beautiful… he’s a beautiful person. A beautiful boy. A beautiful boy person. And sometimes I think about him and I want to tie him to my bread. Bed. Not bread.”

“Please, _please_ tell me I can record this-”

“Seriously, Niall, shut up!”

“And I want to take him out on dates, with wine and- oh god, not wine. Um. Movies. And buy him flowers. Harry would like flowers, don’t you think?” Louis slurred, undeterred. “Only from me though, not from anyone else. He would hate them from Ted. No flowers for Ted.”

Liam and Niall traded confused glances around Louis’ stumbling figure. “Ted?”

“Gingers are stupid anyway!”

“Oh, you mean _Ed,”_ grinned Liam as realization dawned on him. “I didn’t know there was something going on between Ed and Haz.”

“Wait, what?” Louis cried, stopping in his tracks. “There’s something- there’s- what?”

They were at the door to the dorm room already, so Niall propped up the now-distressed drunk while Liam got the door. “Shh, it’s okay, Lou. He wasn’t saying there was, he was asking you, mate. Is Harry into Ed?”

“I don’t like Ed.”

“Why not? He seems like a good lad-”

“Why does everyone _think_ that?” With a dramatic sigh, Louis climbed on top of the kitchen table and sprawled out like the distance between his alcohol-numbed hands could encompass the expanse of his agony. “Okay, so maybe he’s really nice, and like, smart. And a musician or whatever. But why do people have to like him? _My_ people. My people like him more than me.”

“You mean your Harry likes him more than you.”

Louis just stuck out his bottom lip in pathetic reply.

Liam came and sat in a chair near Louis’ head, so he could look his friend earnestly in the eye. “Louis, I know you’re absolutely pissed right now, but come on. Ed’s a catch, you know? I think if Harry wants to start something with him, you should be happy for them.”

“You’re right. Ed is a catch,” Louis eventually sniffled. “But aren’t I a catch, too? Why can’t I be his catch?”

If it weren’t for the fact that Louis was so drunk he couldn’t lie still and so distressed he couldn’t shut up, Liam might have laughed. But in the end, the fine print of the best friend contract said that if Louis needed someone to tell him whether his sonnets about curly hair were good, Liam was the man for the job. So he and Niall sat there for hours with their poor, lovestruck mate, waiting for him to pass out again so they could drag him to bed and leave him to his morning after misery. That’s what friends were for.

(Besides, someone had to be there to film the sonnets. That was blackmail _gold.)_

…………………

Louis came to the next morning with his head in the toilet and zero recollection of how he got there. All he knew for the moment was that the tile beneath him was possibly moving, whatever he’d been drinking was even worse on the way back up, and he really, _really_ needed to clean the bathroom more often.

The sound of the flush summoned Liam, who came in armed with paracetamol and water. “Morning, princess,” he says very quietly, much to Louis’ relief. “On a scale from one to ‘check me into rehab,’ how shit do you feel?”

“Shoot me in the face.”

“Oh, good, now Niall owes me a tenner. He thought you’d handle it better, but you haven’t binge drank in like three months. I knew you’d be rusty!”

“Glad to be of service, you dick.”

“Hey, be nice to him,” Niall chided from the doorway. “We’re the ones who sat up all night with your drunk arse so you didn’t hurt yourself. And we have video evidence, so.”

“Video evidence of what?”

“Do you remember _anything_ about what happened last night?”

The bathroom is coming into focus a little better now, but anything before then is still a blur. “Please, just tell me there isn’t a tiger anywhere in this flat,” Louis mumbled as he accepted Liam’s offering of hangover relief.

Niall, for his part, was enjoying this all too much. “You had loose lips last night, Tommo. Told us all about your lady love.”

“My _lady_ love? Jesus Christ, if I was hitting on something that didn’t have a dick, I swear to god I’m never drinking again-”

“Nah, mate. _Harry.”_

Louis froze. Both boys were standing over him, watching his face with amused smiles and mischievous glints in their eyes. “H- what?” he finally managed to stutter.

“You were way past ‘one too many,’ and you sort of forgot how to keep a secret,” Liam kindly informed him. “So. We know all about your feelings for Harry.”

“No. _No,_ god no, I don’t- I don’t have feelings for Harry,” Louis said as firmly as he could manage past the renewed turmoil in his stomach.

“Your drunk handwriting is kind of shit, to be fair, but you wrote a poem about his ass on your notebook if you want to see that.”

“When did you get so vindictive, Niall?”

“Since you disappointed me. Seven mixed drinks and you’re blackout drunk? Come on, Louis, you’re better than that!”

“Seven very strong, very mixed drinks,” pled Louis a little desperately. “And fine. Maybe I have a certain admiration for Harry’s ass. I think we can all agree it’s enticing.”

The straight men in the room traded glances.

“Okay, just take my word for it. But anyways, the point is, I can find someone attractive without having feelings for them. So if you could kindly fuck off about Harry, I’d thank you not to make things weird.”

But the faces of his friends were moving from amusement to pity now in a manner that Louis did not like one bit. Liam sat on the tile next to him and patted a bare ankle in the gentlest way. “Louis, I hate to break it to you, but… you’re not just attracted to Harry. That ship has sailed.”

“I had _one_ wet dream about the guy-”

“First of all, that’s too much information. Second of all… you kept singing love ballads and putting his name in them. You kept calling Niall ‘Harry’ and tried to kiss him.”

“And that was _before_ you asked me to marry you,” Niall added helpfully.

“Right you are. But it was _after_ he spent half an hour brainstorming ways to push Ed down a flight of stairs.”

“Ed? Why the fuck would I want to push Ed down the stairs?”

“Because you think Harry likes him and it made you jealous.”

They say it all with too serious an air to just be fucking with him, Louis knows. Which is almost worse, because- “I said all that? And did all that? But I don’t… I don’t have feelings for Harry. Absolutely not. I was just really, really drunk. That’s all.”

A quiet staredown ensues before Liam hauls himself off the bathroom floor and shrugs. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, mate, then go for it. But I know you. And I know that you’re kidding yourself if you don’t admit that you’re in deep for that kid.”

“Niall, help me out here,” Louis said in one final, desperate plea. “Tell Liam that kind of stuff doesn’t count when you’re drunk!”

“Sorry, mate, but I’m with Payno. You’re toast. Just stop kidding yourself before you lose it and _actually_ push someone to their death, yeah?”

Louis was still a little nauseous when he went to bed that night. It might not have been the alcohol, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh the truths that come out when under the influence. I almost got back together with a bad news ex that way... actually that's how I met my current beau, too... Stay in school kids
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	14. Chapter 14

The fact that Louis went an entire week without letting onto the fact that he was in mental and emotional turmoil was pretty strong evidence that he never should have stopped doing theatre. It was remarkable, really. Ever since he’d picked himself up off the bathroom floor he’d done nothing but ponder what was going on in his own head, and the fact that Harry was blissfully ignorant was a minor miracle.

He continued on as usual, with Harry chattering about this and that (and a lot of times, both ‘this’ and ‘that’ involved his new friend). The younger lad was pleased to have such a budding social life, and Louis- though it pained him to admit it- was miserable hearing about it.

The worst bit was that the whole thing made zero sense. Even _if_ he had feelings for Harry- which he _didn’t-_ there was no reason for him to be so jealous over Ed. The man really was sort of perfect. He was gentle and kind and sensitive, always genuine and open with everyone he came across. He had a nice sense of humor and could have Harry in stitches, but at other times was just quiet and calm. And his music… well, Louis knew music, and the man was definitely destined for greatness. His guitarwork was almost as strong as his vocals, which were almost as strong as his flawless songwriting.

Basically, Ed Sheeran was probably exactly what Harry needed and as close to what he deserved as humanity would ever get.

(Louis still had to grit his teeth whenever the name came up.)

So he settles instead for trying desperately to distract Harry whenever possible, by whatever means possible. Ridiculous topics, harebrained schemes, off-the-wall anecdotes… Louis was on a mission to glean some modicum of Harry’s attention and it was really working.

“So then the guy leaves the bed because he forgot to call his mum, right? A grown man. Not because she didn’t know where he was or anything, but because he just always calls his mum at that time,” Louis said animatedly, deep into a retelling of his most awkward romantic encounter- always a crowd-pleaser.

“Even though you were already _in bed?”_

“Yup. And then he comes back like nothing happened, and I’m absolutely not in the mood anymore. No matter what he does, I just cannot get it up because he’d just phoned his _mum,_ you know?”

“That’s really weird,” Harry agreed, looking more than a little put off himself.

“I was totally freaked. Finally I just pushed him off and was like, ‘no thanks, man,’ and walked out.” Louis laughed to himself at the memory of the guy’s face. He was an adventurous guy, but when mums were involved he drew a very clear line.

Harry had been listening with amusement tinged with the blush of someone unused to talking about sexual exploits, but now his smile was fading into a more serious expression. “Can I ask you a question?” he said quietly when he noticed Louis watching.

“Yeah, sure. What’s up?

“You can’t laugh.”

That was an easy enough promise; Harry looked sick and that was no laughing matter. “Of course I won’t. What’s wrong, H?”

"Well, it’s just- I was just wondering. Um. How did you know that you didn't want it?"

Louis replies with all of the lightness he can muster in the face of an absurdly heavy question like that. "Well I was soft as I've ever been and I would have much rather been at home watching footie than touching him, so those were pretty clear signs."

"But what if you just didn't _know_ you wanted him?"

"Wh-What are you talking about?"

"Well, like, sometimes you feel like you don't want sex, but actually you do. And like, you just don't know it."

There is no more lightness for Louis to spare. His stomach is sinking, fast. "Harry... if you don't want sex then you don't want sex. If you're unsure, the answer is no."

Harry is very quiet then. It doesn’t take a mind reader to know that he’s fretting to himself, and it doesn’t take a heart as soft as Louis’ to break at the sight. He brushes curls back from furrowed brow with the gentlest of touches and asks, "What's wrong, babe?"

The question came as delicately as a feather, but it still hit Harry hard enough to make him wince. It took a minute before he could answer. "I just- well sometimes, with Thomas, he'd say that I wanted to like, do things with him. And I didn't think I wanted to, but he said that I wanted it. Because I always did. So I just always thought that I just didn't _know_ that I wanted it."

Would there ever come a time when Louis would stop being surprised by the horrors that had come from that relationship? His mouth was dry with the implications of Harry’s confession. "And you did what he wanted to? Even though you didn't- you didn't know that you wanted it?"

"Yeah. He had to be right. Wasn't he?"

"No, Harry, listen to me,” he said earnestly, grabbing both of the younger boy’s hands and squeezing them tight. “The only way that you can want sex if you want it _for sure_ , right in that moment. If you're having any kinds of doubts, that's a no. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, it's a no.

“And if Thomas made you do things when you weren't sure you wanted them, that's-" Louis can't bring himself to call the beast by its name. He settles for something milder. "It's not fair to you. And it's not right."

“Okay,” Harry whispers with his eyes on the sofa cushions.

This is definitely not a conversation that Louis wants to be having -not with _anyone,_ let alone with Harry- but there are a lot of things more important than Louis’ comfort and one of them is Harry’s safety. He puts on his very bravest face. “We should talk about this kind of stuff though,” he blurts. “What you had with Thomas wasn’t normal or healthy, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, of course I know that,” Harry replied firmly.

“You never got to learn how to set boundaries, or say no, or anything like that, and it just makes me worried for you, yeah?” Louis’ cheeks are on fire. “The only person who knows what’s best for you is you, so you have to like, be your own advocate.”

“My own-?”

“You’ve just got to stand up for yourself, yeah? Protect your heart and all. You know what you want and what you feel comfortable with, so you should always be ready to take control of a situation and just… yeah. Know what you want and what you like so that you can be safe and happy.”

Harry’s face was as red as Louis’ now. “Oh my god. Please don’t tell me you’re about to teach me about the birds and the bees, because I swear to god I’ve got that speech already.”

“Christ, no. I’m just trying to say- relationships should never make you uncomfortable or pressured, okay? That’s all. I’ll shut up now.” _Thank god._

"I don't know why you’re even telling me all this,” Harry said with mortification. “I'm not even dating anyone. I'm not even looking."

"Well you should probably start thinking about it because Ed is tripping over himself to climb on your dick, so."

As soon as the grumbled sentence is out of his mouth, Louis regrets it. His eyes go wide at the exact second Harry’s do, and suddenly they’re staring at each other in mutual shock and mortification. “He- _what?”_ Harry stutters at last.

 _It’s too late to turn back now._ “Ed has been flirting with you for two weeks now, Harry. Why do you think he keeps texting you 24/7 and inviting you to his shows and buying you your favorite pastries?”

Realization dawns on Harry’s face like the sun over the horizon. “Oh my god. I didn’t even- I had no idea he was flirting with me. Oh my _god.”_

“Yeah. He’s been positively drooling over you, H.”

“Me, though? Why _me?”_

“Because you’re one of the best human beings on the planet, for starters,” Louis immediately supplied. “And because you’re handsome, and charming, and funny. You’re always so sweet to everyone, and so positive and just all-around endearing. And even if you have the weirdest fucking taste in music, you’re really great to be around and you make other people want to also be better human beings.”

And that’s really the moment that it clicks for Louis. Somewhere in the back of his mind a lightbulb goes off when he realizes that paragraphs of praise for a friend don’t usually roll off the tongue like that, and that it probably shouldn’t be so easy to put himself in the shoes of someone who’d fallen for Harry. It hits him like a train. It’s the notion that maybe, just maybe… he had feelings for this boy.

 _He_ had _feelings_ for _Harry Styles._

It was kind of a relief, to know. So many things made sense now, with that kind of lens to look through. Like why he hated the idea of Harry being with Ed, or why it felt like heaven to hear Harry say, “But I don’t look at Ed like that at all! He’s a really good friend, but… he’s just a friend, you know?”

“Yeah, of course,” Louis managed to mumble.

Harry just resettled himself on the couch and smiled a little to himself. “Someone _likes_ me though. As in, actually has feelings for me. Isn’t that weird to think?”

_It’s weird for me too, babe._

“I mean, I guess I hadn’t really thought about it, but… I guess I am single now, aren’t I? Like, I could date someone if I wanted to. Because people like me. And when people like each other, they date. Is this what it’s like, to feel normal?” he asks Louis with a grin.

It’s all Louis can do to mutter an affirmative, because of all the things he feels just then, _normal_ is not one of them. But then, having feelings for your platonic friend can do that to you.

………………….

This epiphany of Harry’s -that he is a free and admired person- seems to do wonders for personal growth. He was getting increasingly eager to try new things, to step out of his comfort zone in search of a better reality. The next time a party was mentioned, he was first to suggest going. He talked to new people, smiled more, and got braver with every breath.

He also made it a point to talk to Ed and inform him that he was flattered, but completely uninterested in a romantic relationship. Ed took it in stride, like everyone knew he would; he was satisfied to have Harry as a friend and fellow indie music enthusiast. As for Louis, he refused to admit how satisfied he was with the outcome of that situation.

Much easier to focus on was Harry’s blossoming. Such as the way he suggested one night that they all go out for drinks and dancing, for no other reason than it was a Friday and that meant having survived another week of school and work. Zayn may have opted out, but Liam and Niall were more than game and Louis vowed to come over the instant he got off work.

He’d been waiting three and a half months to see Styles get wasted, and he was _not_ about to miss this.

Harry’s already most of the way to plastered by the time Louis gets there, which he reminded himself to thank Liam for later. Drunk Harry was something Louis wanted to be sober enough to appreciate. He did a few shots in an effort not to be _too_ behind, then turned his full attention to Harry- loose, sloppy, gloriously relaxed _Harry._

He must have had glitter tattooed on his eyes, the way they were sparkling. His lips, stained red with whatever cocktail Liam had just ordered for him, were halfway to a smile even at rest, and they fell into a grin when Louis looked his way. “Lou,” he exclaimed, a little slurred, “come dance with me!”

“I’m not nearly drunk enough for _that,_ Harold.”

Harry only scooted forward to the edge of his barstool and leaned in towards Louis, beckoning him closer. Louis leaned in the rest of the way, letting Harry put his mouth clumsily on Louis’ ear and whisper, “Please, Lou, please. I want t’ see you dance.”

Which of course made Louis’ stomach flutter in a heavy sort of way. It didn’t help that Harry’s voice was lower and rougher than he’d ever heard it, too. “Um. Sure, Haz, let’s go.”

And he really intended to keep things G-rated. Really, he did, because he hadn’t been joking when he said he wasn’t drunk enough. Once the alcohol kicked in and he forgot how to define dignity, the dance floor was his. But now, with a clear head and a heart full of fresh, uncomfy feelings, Louis really knew better.

The problem was that Harry had other plans. He came up behind Louis and put his hands just above Louis’ hips, and Jesus _Christ_ his hands were huge. Louis put his hands on top of Harry’s, half to keep them there, to memorize the feel of them… and half to ready himself for the moment he would have to push them away, because they were so close to occupying the same space that everything was suddenly too breathless, too intimate.

Not that Harry seemed to mind.

He kept inching closer and closer to Louis’ back, until first his breath, then his mouth raised goose bumps on the skin of the smaller boy’s neck. He wasn’t kissing or biting or doing anything inherently sexual, but that was almost worse. He was just letting his lips lie open-mouthed on Louis’s skin, like he was inhaling him. Somewhere in Louis’ slightly fuzzy mind, warning bells were going off.

It wasn’t until Louis felt Harry’s hand’s moving- sliding around the front of his waist and a little lower than perhaps was platonic- that Louis had the presence of mind to try distracting him. “What do you say we check up on Liam for a sec?”

Harry pouted a little but nodded, movements sloppy with alcohol. Louis disentangled his fingers and body from Harry’s and made his way back to the bar, where Liam and Niall waited with matching pints and expressions of interest. “Having a good time, lads?” Niall shouted over the music, all faux innocence.

While Louis busied himself trying to tell Niall to shut up without actually saying anything, Harry ordered four more shots. “Two for each of us!” he declared, cradling them all in one hand and showing them proudly to Louis.

For his part, Louis declined (“Tequila is no friend of mine, Mr. Styles, you’ll thank me not to drink any!”). But that only meant that Harry wound up drinking them all himself, much to Niall’s amusement. “Should we be worried?” Liam asked warily.

“He’s a big lad, I’m sure he can handle a few shots,” Louis replied, though he was quite sober enough to know he was sure of no such thing.

As if to prove Louis right for worrying, it was only a few minutes later that Harry apparently reached his threshold for stillness and slid off his barstool. This time, he didn’t even bother dragging Louis to the dance floor, just pulled him off the barstool and right to his chest. One hand found Louis’ hip, the other held aloft like they were ballroom dancing instead of being in a club where the music was so loud you could hardly hear yourself think.

Louis’ stomach was still fluttering over this new, aggressive side of Harry. Was this the same kid that had been thrilled beyond measure that Louis wanted to so much as text him? Now, so close that he could feel the buzz in Harry’s chest as he tried to sing along, Louis wasn’t sure the Harry he knew would do a thing like this. He also wasn’t sure that he minded.

The longer they danced like that, Harry swaying them side to side completely obliviousto the actual music, the more Louis melted into his touch. Harry was good, and Harry was warm. What did it matter that this wasn’t something they’d do sober? Wasn’t that the whole point of getting drunk? The walls come down, you do stupid things, and you don’t talk about it in the morning.

Besides, it was just dancing. There was nothing wrong with dancing.

So Louis didn’t try to pull away when Harry moved to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist, leaving Louis’ arms to drape around his neck and making the two of them look like a proper grade school couple. He didn’t fight it when Harry moved his mouth right next to Louis’ ear, because even when the words were slurred there was still that deep, rumbly tone to it that made his stomach warm. Louis just closed his eyes and let it happen, let himself enjoy the part of Harry that he’d probably never see sober.

“I want t’ suck your cock.”

It must have been comical to anyone watching, to see Louis’ face go from carefree bliss to wide-eyed, slack-jawed shock in an instant. “Wh- _what?”_

“I want t’ suck your cock,” Harry mumbled again, taking Louis’ earlobe in between his teeth. “Want you t’ fuck into my mouth ‘ntil my voice ‘s wrecked.”

And Louis _tried_ not to let that go straight to his dick- he did. _It doesn’t count if he’s drunk. It doesn’t count if he’s drunk. It doesn’t count if he’s drunk._ “Oh. Um. Thank you? I think.”

“I do,” Harry insisted. “I want your cock. Wanna get you hard.”

“Harry-”

“’nd I want you to fuck me. Feel… feel you ‘nside me. Your fucking cock-”

“Harry!” Louis repeated, with more force, and pulled back as much as Harry would let him. “Stop saying shit like that, _Jesus._ Not like- not like that, Harry,” he backtracked when Harry’s face fell and Louis’ heart broke. “You’re allowed to say whatever you want, and think what you want and feel what you want. It’s just-” _It’s just you’re fucking hot when you’re needy like this and you make me want to give you everything you’re asking for._

“It’s just you’re really, really drunk right now,” Louis tried out loud, prying Harry’s arms from his body by degrees. “So you’re not- in your right mind, I guess. So- it doesn’t count. Or whatever.”

“’m not so very drunk-”

“Harry, you were trying to sing Gangnam Style using the lyrics from Just Dance. You’re plastered.”

Liam might not have been able to hear their words over the music, but he could see the panic on Louis’ face and the way he was struggling to disengage. “Louis, mate, you good?” he asked, placing a protective hand on the small of his back and eyeing Harry warily. Louis could see the internal struggle as he tried to reconcile the ‘Harry is fragile’ instinct with the ‘must protect Louis’ instinct.

“Fine, Li,” chirped Louis falsely, finally managing to eliminate all points of contact between him and the swaying boy. “Just, um, maybe we should get H home, yeah?”

Already Liam was nodding, reaching for Harry’s arm in a way that was gentle as a parent but firm as a bodyguard. “I think we’re about done here tonight, man,” Liam said. “We’re all gonna head home, okay? You included.”

“But I haven’t finished talking t’ Louis ‘bout how I want to-”

“Harry, babe, keep that to yourself tonight, okay?” Louis interrupted frantically. _He’ll thank me in the morning when he hasn’t blabbed his drunk delusions of attraction to me._ “I’m not mad,” he added, giving Harry’s arm a comforting pat before he could get too sad. “Just… keep that locked up until you’re back at home, okay?”

Liam was looking between them suspiciously, but Harry was so delighted to have Louis smiling at him and touching his arm that he forgot all about his rejection and made a zipping motion across his lips. Even still, Louis made sure all hands stayed in safe places as Harry leaned on him on their way to the curb to wait for the cab.

Niall was planning on sleeping with Liam and Louis in their room, so they directed the cabbie to Harry’s place, first. Harry remained pleased as punch the whole way there, his lips pressed together and eyes fluttering drunkenly as he hummed some tune no one could identify.  Louis felt like he was back in Doncaster trying to transfer one of his sleeping sisters from car seat to bed with minimal meltdown as he helped Harry from the cab, into the lift, and to his front door.

“Do you have your key, Harry?” The younger boy just pointed to his sealed lips and smirked. Louis sighed. “You can talk now, kid, I just didn’t want you to say anything you’d regret in front of Liam. Now, do you have your key?”

“’s in m’ pocket.”

“Okay, get it out, then.”

“No, you,” Harry said, his smile somehow both innocent and mischievous. He jutted his hip forward, inviting Louis’ hands on his body.

Louis tried to be stern. “Harry. I’m not going to dig in your pockets for you. Either get your key out or I’m knocking on the door, and Zayn isn’t going to be pleased if we wake him up at half one in the morning, yeah?” Obviously Harry had _some_ wits about him, because he pouted but pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door.

As it turned out, Zayn was still awake anyways, sitting on the couch with his laptop and an energy drink. “Hey Haz,” he said absently, barely looking up until he noticed that Harry was only entering with heavy aid from Louis. “Shit, man. How wasted is he?”

“Scale of one to ten?” Louis gave it serious thought. “Eight. Well enough to be conscious and keep the liquor down, but drunk enough to be a danger to his dignity.”

Zayn gave a rare grin. “Yeah, sounds like Harry. Come on, bro, in bed,” he instructed, peeling Harry from Louis and guiding him to the neater of the two beds.

“But ‘m not sleepy,” Harry protested. “Why’s everyone want me t’ go… go home? ‘s still early, Zayn. Zayn, Zayn, Zayn… Louis.”

“Yeah?” Louis asked, but Harry was already beyond hearing.

Louis turned to Zayn, unsure what exactly to say. Luckily, Zayn beat him to the punch. “How mortified’s he gonna be in the morning?”

“Guess that depends on what he remembers,” Louis replied. “But it was nothing too bad. Just a few drunken confessions to yours truly. I’m not sure they were even real confessions, more like drunk babble, you know? So. Um. I made sure he didn’t babble to anyone else, though, so he’s good.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing important,” Louis lied.

By the time everyone made it back to the dorm, Louis was struggling to keep his eyes open. He fell asleep trying to forget the feel of his skin caught between gentle teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tjihis chapter is an polopgy for the cfact that I responded to most of the last chapter's comments while drunl./OI am still driunk but you deserve better. Here, enjoy thsi next chapter!
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all pretend that all of those comments and notes from last night didn't happen, yeah? That was all a joke. Um. A social experiment. Yeah. Let's go with that...
> 
> Enjoy this chapter instead! Y'all are gonna love it. Pure fluff. The sweetness will put you in a diabetic coma. :)

If it weren’t for the fact that the only food-related smells Louis’ dorm ever had were those of burning things, expired things, or microwaved things, he might almost have believed his nose when he rolled over and smelled a full English cooking. _What a cruel dream,_ he thought as he snuggled down into the blankets. If there was a god out there, he was an evil one who liked to torture uni students with the memory of substantial food.

Try as he might to return to sleep, it was too late. Louis’ stomach was growling now, a demanding rumble crying out for the creature comforts of hot poptarts and cold coffee. Not quite a full English, but worth opening his eyes for, anyways.

Harry blinked back at him from where he sat on Liam’s bed.

It took a second for Louis to register that his eyes are, in fact, open, and that Harry is legitimately in his dorm room on a Saturday morning, sitting on the opposite bed and holding a plate full of-

“Is that bacon _and_ sausage?” Louis whispered in sleepy awe. “Oh my god. I thought I was dreaming.”

“It’s for you,” offered Harry, who placed the loaded plate on the nightstand next to Louis’ head. “I made you breakfast in bed.”

There was no need to tell Louis twice. He was propped up on one elbow shoveling eggs into his mouth before Harry was done talking. “Shouldn’t someone be making _you_ breakfast? You ought to be in bed, hungover.”

“I can handle my liquor pretty well, actually,” Harry said quietly. “Woke up at seven and I’m not even a little hungover.”

“That’s unfair, you were _smashed_ last night. Lucky asshole. I take that back,” Louis sighed as he dug into the hash browns. “This is incredible and you are a beautiful, wonderful person for it. Is that-are those fried onions? You’re fantastic.”

Harry’s guilty look was a perfect counterpart to Louis’ expression of rapture. “‘m not,” he protested weakly. “This is an apology breakfast. The whole point of the breakfast is that I’ve been awful.”

“Apology? What for?” Louis asked, though he knew very well. “This breakfast could make up for anything, though, just for the record. Do we have any tea?”

“Oh, I made you that too. Hold on, I’ll get it.”

In the brief moment where Harry went to fetch the mug from the counter, Louis rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Unfortunate, that such an incredible breakfast came with such unpleasant conversation- but unavoidable, if Louis was honest with himself. At least there was bacon to sooth the discomfort.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Harry said quietly after he’d handed the piping hot mug to Louis. “I’m like, horrified. I can’t believe I _said_ that, _out loud.”_

Blasé was definitely the best option here, Louis decided at once. “Don’t worry about it, we all say stuff we don’t mean when we’re drunk, yeah?” he said gently, spreading baked beans on toast like it was the most interesting task in the world and all ongoing conversation was hardly worth consideration.

“But what if… what if I _did_ mean it?”

Beans slop down Louis’ chin because he misses his mouth in shock. Harry wordlessly hands him a napkin, face beet red, waiting for some kind of a response.

“S-sorry, what?” Louis struggled to get out.

“What if I did? Want that. Those things that I said.” Harry seems determined to keep eye contact with Louis despite the flaming of his cheeks, his chin raised in a way that spoke equal parts defiance and desperation.

It’s a bravery Louis can’t ignore. “Oh. You mean you- you actually _do_ want me to… oh.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, right.” His heart is pounding. His legs feel kind of trembly and his mouth is numb. This isn’t something he planned for. Nowhere in the great roadmap of expectations Louis had in his mind did he ever think he would find himself here, now, offering placations- “It’s alright. You can feel whatever you want to feel, and want whatever things you want. That isn’t wrong.”

“And is it- is it wrong to want them from your best friend?”

The sound of blood rushing in his ears makes it a little hard for Louis to hear himself say, “Not if your best friend wants them, too.”

Who’s more shocked, the green-eyed boy hearing words he dared not hope for tumble off a friend’s tongue? Or perhaps the blue-eyed one, listening to secrets he dared not tell fall from his lips without his permission?

“Wh- what?” Harry breathed with wide eyes. “You-”

Louis’ chest was getting tighter by the second. _Oh shit. Oh, SHIT. You just told him you want to fuck him. What the fuck are you thinking?! Danger danger danger danger DANGER-_

But Harry’s face was too innocent, too hopeful for Louis to take back his words. They are in uncharted waters and Louis is too far from shore to turn back now.

“We need to have a DTR,” Louis blurted, breathless. “Can we have a DTR? Because I’m sort of panicking here, and yeah.”

“Have a- what? You’re panicking? But you never panic, you’re always so calm, Lou,” Harry fretted. “Are you alright?”

“I only panic when I’m surprised, and I honestly did _not_ see this coming.” For a moment, Louis just focuses on the in and out of his breath and on remembering that this _was_ actually happening. It all felt hugely surreal, like it was someone else sitting across from their friend discussing their mutual desire to have sex. _Get control, Louis. Calm down and talk this through, you’re better than this. You’re better than panicking. Don’t freak out, talk to him!_

“Talking sounds good,” Harry nervously supplied.

“Listen,” sighed Louis, slowly bringing himself down to earth so he could feel steady again, “first of all, I don’t want you to be embarrassed about telling me anything, last night _or_ today. Because even if I _wasn’t_ attracted to you, you can always tell me stuff. No judgment, ever. But… I am. Attracted to you. _Really_ attracted to you, actually.”

“I was really worried that you’d be angry with me.” Harry’s confession was as quiet as it was heartfelt. “Because you didn’t want them back. I thought you’d be disgusted, and never want to see me again.”

“Harry, you know I would never-”

“Yeah, I _know_ that, but… I was still afraid, if that makes sense. But…” He hesitated. “You really are attracted to me, though?”

Louis smiled wryly. “Let’s put it this way, if you’d been sober when you were whispering those things in my ear, I might have taken you up on it. Except… except even still, I think maybe it wouldn’t have been a good idea. Maybe _we_ aren’t a good idea.”

Harry’s face fell, slowly and painfully. “What do you mean? If you’re attracted to me and I’m attracted to you-”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“You’re always saying things are complicated, but I don’t see how this is,” Harry pled.

“Because you’re vulnerable, Harry!” _How can he not see it?_ “Two months ago you were in a relationship with an emotionally abusive homophobe, and you’re just now starting to find yourself again. I’m the person who helped you get out, and… I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” Louis finished miserably.

“But you’re not. I’m actually, genuinely into you, and it’s not because of what you did for me or anything.” Harry stopped to think, face pinched in a concerned frown. “Well, I mean, I do like you because you’re so caring and sweet and supportive, so it’s kind of about what you did for me, but I like you for other stuff, too.” His voice trailed off to a whisper.

By now, Louis had a heavy, heavy heart. “I’m glad. I mean, I’m glad that you have _feelings_ for me, because I have feelings for you too. It’s not just being attracted to you. But the thing is, you _barely_ know who you are, as a person, apart from everything Thomas taught you.”

“So _you_ teach me-”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Louis interrupted. “If you don’t have a good idea of who Harry is on your own, then I’m taking advantage of you because I’m… I don’t know, stunting your growth. I want you to be independent and strong and live up to your potential, because you deserve to have it all.”

He let that settle for a moment, watched Harry mull it over in his mind before finally nodding. “I guess I understand. Thanks for, um, letting me down easy, I guess.”

“It’s not a no,” Louis corrected gently, “just a ‘not right now.’”

Maybe that was an unfair thing to say, to have Harry hoping for something that might never come, because there may never come a day where Louis won’t feel like anything he has to offer would do anything but drag Harry down. But hope made Harry’s eyes light up, so that was worth it in the end.

“And what about in the meantime?” he asks quietly, like Louis has all the answers to every question.

“In the meantime, you are my very best friend -don’t tell Liam though- and I want to keep being your best friend. We can’t exactly pretend that we haven’t just both confessed that we like each other on a lot of levels, but… we can try to go back to semi-normal, yeah? Or is that too much to ask?” Louis tacks on with a hopeful smile.

“No, that sounds really good,” Harry quickly replied with a smile of his own. “Just, um. Let me know. When something changes.”

Louis doesn’t quite know how to answer that, so he just grins and returns to his long forgotten plate to stuff his mouth with breakfast and keep more dumb words from slipping out. “Ugh. My food’s gone cold,” he mumbled with disappointment.

“Does it help my case any if I tell you I’ve got more in the kitchen?”

“Are you trying to manipulate me?”

“That depends, is it working?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Eggs scrambled or fried?”

“You are a _wonderful_ human being.”

…………………

Things do go back to normal, insofar as ‘normal’ involves the two of them acting like nothing had happened while silently watching each other for the slightest cue that something had changed. That’s what Louis was doing anyways, and from what he saw of Harry, he wasn’t alone. Harry’s eyes were always on him when he thought Louis wouldn’t notice, a silent question of, “Now?”

The other boys were, of course, oblivious. Liam and Niall knew about what Louis had said while drunk that one night, but he certainly hadn’t told them that he and Harry were in a holding pattern of sorts. Sometimes Zayn gave him an appraising look that made Louis think that he might know something, too, though he didn’t know exactly how _much_ the quiet boy was aware of.

Either way, no one was saying anything and that was just fine with Louis.

“Mate, you free this afternoon?” Liam asked one morning that week. “I need your help with something.”

“I might possibly be free. It depends, how much effort am I going to have to put forward, and will there be food?”

“You can’t answer a yes or no question with a maybe.” Liam rolled his eyes, but indulged the other boy. “There will be effort, but fun effort. And there _can_ be food, I guess?”

“I’m intrigued. Continue.”

“I want you to come kick around the football with me. My ankle’s still a bit off from that fall last week, and I’m worried about tomorrow’s scrimmage. So just come do some drills with me or something, to loosen it up?”

“That’s hardly work at all,” replied Louis with a grin. “I’m in. Wait, what’s today? Friday?”

“Yeah. You don’t have class, right?”

“No, but I’m meant to be hanging out with Harry this afternoon.” Louis frowned. “So maybe I can’t. He’s not a fan of footie…”

Liam actually had the gall to laugh at that. “It’s not like he’d turn you down if you asked him to. He’s always into whatever you suggest.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t manipulate him,” Louis said firmly. “I’m too charming for my own good. With great power comes great responsibility, Liam, you know that.”

“What if _I_ call and ask him if he wants to? Will that satisfy your conscience?” Secretly Louis thought that Harry was the type of guy to go along with any plans made by anyone, but he let Liam get out his phone and dial anyways. “Hey, Harry, y’alright? Yeah I’m just sat here with Louis, and we were talking about how I need to practice my footie for tomorrow’s match, and he said that if you were cool with it, maybe you guys could come to the pitch with me and Lou and he could help me out? ...You sure? You don’t have to if you don’t want- alright, mate, yeah. Oh. They are? Yeah, have them come too. Lou and I will be there in like an hour. Okay! See you then.”

“I take it he agreed?” Louis prompted as Liam tossed the phone on the coffee table with a clatter.

“Yeah, yeah. And he says Niall and Zayn are at the flat, and they want to come along, too. So apparently it’s a proper party!”

“Niall’s over there?” Louis mused. “I didn’t realize him and Harry were so close.”

“Think he’s there for Zayn, actually.”

“Seriously? I _must_ be out of it. I didn’t know they were mates, either.”

“Phone the police!” cried Liam. “The all-knowing Louis William Tomlinson didn’t know something! The apocalypse is coming! Hide the children!”

“Oh, would you shut the _fuck_ up?”

The idea of a kick around with Liam was enough to soften Louis though, so that by the time all five were gathered on the university’s field, he was all smiles. Liam was the star striker for the team, and that meant he was actually a match for Louis. Liam was always telling him how he should have stuck with it into college, because even after years of minimal practice, he could still hold his own against the new Captain.

“I’m actually really rubbish at football,” Zayn declared firmly during their pow wow on the midfield line. “I’ll just stick to the sidelines. I can be a cheerleader or something.”

“My knee’s killin’ me too much to run,” added Niall. “But I’ll be in goal if you want!”

“Okay!” Liam instantly agreed. “Louis, you’re opposite me?”

“As always.”

“What about you, Harry? What’s your position?”

Harry looked like a deer caught in the headlights. “My- what?”

“What position do you like to play? Defender? Midfield? Forward?”

“Oh. I dunno, I don’t really… play. Never played, actually,” Harry confessed. “I’m not very good at sports, so. Maybe I should sit out, too, I don’t want to mess up your game or anything-”

“Nonsense,” interrupted Louis. “You can be on my team, it’ll be us against Liam. I can teach you, if you want,” he tacked on kindly.

“Oh. Okay, that sounds good,” Harry replied with a tentative smile. “I warn you though, I’m really, _really_ bad.”

He wasn’t kidding. For someone with a body as muscled and strong as Harry’s, when he tried to move above a walk the boy turned into a gangly mess of limbs that never quite seemed to move the way he wanted them to. He was lucky to keep up with the ball without tripping, let alone actually pass it or go for a goal.

Louis didn’t mind being partnered with the world’s klutziest disaster, though. He takes care to pass him the ball often, because even though Liam always gets it back right away, the look of concentration on Harry’s face whenever the ball is in his possession is positively adorable. He even has his tongue poking out the side of his mouth like a little kid. It’s one of the most charming things Louis thinks he’s ever seen, actually.

It’s almost as charming as the way Harry is enthralled by Louis’ every move. He’s watching, carefully, eyes bright as Louis darts around, stealing the ball from between Liam’s feet and weaving around Harry like he’s got wings to help him flit around. If Louis tries a little harder than normal to impress his fan club of one, he really can’t be blamed.

Zayn just lingers on the sidelines, smoking like a chimney and muttering comments about his balls freezing off. Over time, though, he started drifting to the end of the field where Niall was keeping goal, until he was leaning on one goalpost and they were deep in conversation. Niall didn’t even notice the other players were on his half of the field until a football went whizzing past his head and into the net.

“Niall!” Louis cried. “Get your head in the game!”

“Oh, come off it,” grumbled Niall. “The point was to help Liam practice, not keep him from scoring.”

“But it’s the _principle_ of the matter-”

Zayn flicked a cigarette butt at him in Niall’s defense, and that was pretty much that.

…………………

It was funny to see the look on Zayn’s face when Louis asked him if he could have a copy of that sketch he’d shown Louis of Harry pre-Thomas. He didn’t _say_ anything about the request, exactly, but he certainly didn’t look like he believed Louis’ weak explanation of, ‘I think you’re a really great artist and that was a really good piece.’

Not that Louis wanted that copy for any weird kind of reasons or anything like that. It’s just that Harry was starting to become more alive, more vibrant, and Louis’ mind kept traveling back to that picture. Harry had a lightness about him, even if sometimes there was still that heavy insecurity tugging him down at the edges, and if Louis didn’t know better, he might think that Harry was on his way to being what he was, before.

All that was missing was a flower crown and a dreamy smile, and Louis thought about how happy that made him every time he peeked at the print he kept hidden between textbooks on his desk. His little secret.

Harry wasn’t the only one changing, though. As Liam liked to point out at every available opportunity, Louis had an almost-permanent smirk on his face, mouth ready to smile at a second’s notice. He refused to admit it had anything to do with Harry. Liam refused to let it go. “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” was all he’d say to counter Louis’ indignance.

Now Liam and Niall were gone for the winter break, having gone home to Wolverhampton and Mullingar as soon as finals were done. His own mother had begged him to come home for the entire break, but Louis couldn’t quite leave behind London for that long- or the people it held.

“I’ll stay with Tom and Lou,” he argued gently, “and help them out with Lux while her daycare is on break.” That, along with vague declarations that he had ‘stuff to do in London,’ finally wore her down. He was to take the train back to Doncaster on Christmas day, after she and his sisters got back from visiting family, and stay until New Year’s Day. In the meantime, he was hanging around London with Harry, Zayn, and Lou without having to hear constant teasing from Liam and Niall about the possibility that Harry might be the best thing to happen to Louis’ mood since FIFA 2014.

It was hard to deny though, when Louis found himself laughing at every horrible joke Harry made; you have to have serious affection for a kid to find it funny when he says something like, “What’s the internet’s favorite animal? The lynx!”

“That’s exceptionally horrible,” Louis replied blandly, even as he fought to keep a neutral face. “Even for you.”

“No, it’s a pun! Get it? ‘Cause the animal is l-y-n-x, but then on the internet there are l-i-n-k-s. Lynx, links, see?”

“Yeah, I get it, you loser.” Louis’ grin mirrored Harry’s own. “I don’t know that I find it as hysterical as _you_ do, but…”

“It is hysterical!”

“No, what’s hysterical is the way you laugh at your own jokes. It’s cute though, don’t worry,” he added before Harry could fret over whether Louis meant that as criticism or praise.

Harry batted his eyelashes a few times in a way that he wouldn’t have dared to just two weeks before. “You think I’m cute?”

“And that you’re the worst comedian on the planet.”

“But a _cute_ bad comedian.”

“A bad comedian who should strongly consider making me a cheese toastie to win my favor.”

“That’s blatant manipulation!”

“Yes. With bacon in it, please.”

A winning smile won Louis the opportunity to see Harry roll his eyes but make his way to the kitchen with a happy smile. From the way he acted, cooking for Louis was his favorite activity in the world. And from the way he only barely criticized Louis’ diet choices, it was a privilege he was eager to keep earning.

Louis almost didn’t hear when Harry’s low, quiet voice started coming from the kitchen. He might have been murmuring to himself, except that there was a melody… Louis turned the volume on the telly down by degrees until he could make out the words drifting from Harry’s lips in a soft, easy lilt.

_“Isn’t she precious? Less than one minute old. And I never thought through love we’d be, making one as lovely as she. Isn’t she lovely, made from love?”_

Louis hardly dared to breathe, like any exhale might alert the masterpiece of a man in his kitchen to the fact that he was, as usual, the only thing on Louis’ mind. Not that Louis felt much like he _could_ breathe, since the more he listened, the more the breath got knocked out of him.

_“Isn’t she pretty? Truly the angel’s best. Boy, I’m so happy- we have been heaven blessed.”_

It wasn’t just that he had a nice voice- nice voices were a dime a dozen and Louis had heard what felt like them all. What truly made it feel like the world was slowing down was the way that Harry sounded like he was caressing the words, like they were all living things that he was bringing into creation. It was like sunshine, and poetry, and every other cheesy metaphor that anyone had ever made about beautiful things. He wasn’t just singing, he was… magic.

_“I can’t believe what God has done- through us he’s given life to one. But isn’t she lovely, made from love?”_

When Harry returned from the kitchen, he wasn’t met with fanfare or compliments or gushing affection. Louis just smiled quietly at him, and thanked him for the food, and made sure that he was sitting quite close to Harry for the rest of the afternoon, since that’s what Harry liked best.

But that’s just how Louis felt- quiet. Still. That’s how it feels, to be completely, absolutely, beautifully in love with someone.

…………………

“You have _got_ to be bloody joking me.”

“Louis, I’m very serious,” Harry replied, very seriously. “This is one of the best movies out there. The fact that you haven’t seen it actually offends me.”

“It’s a chick movie. And it’s a musical. The gay community is battling for rights all over the world and you’re over here reinforcing stereotypes like it’s your job,” Louis retorted, no less passionate. “Why not a classic, like Anchorman or something?”

Harry stared him down like they were cowboys in a dirt street full of tumbleweeds, rather than two uni students fighting over the Netflix menu. “I’m _trying_ to educate you. This is college, you’re supposed to be broadening your horizons or something.”

“Or something.”

“Louis…”

“Yes, alright, fine,” Louis caved with a moan. “We’ll watch _Mama Mia!_ Just please, put that pouty lip away.”

The lip, of course, disappeared immediately as Harry’s face shifted into a brilliant smile. “Thanks, Lou!” he crowed, a little too enthusiastic in his movements as he hooked the laptop up to the TV and selected his prizefighter from the menu.

“I’m only doing this for the popcorn.”

“Mmhmm. Hey, put your phone away! This is serious.”

“I’m just putting it on silent so it won’t go off in the middle, yeesh.”

“Louis. I can see the twitter app open-”

“Shh. The movie’s starting, don’t be rude.”

Harry just giggles and settles in on his end of his and Zayn’s couch. Louis has claimed the other half, with the giant bowl of popcorn between them on the center cushion. They both had blankets wrapped around them to ward off the mid-December chill. Privately, Louis thinks this is sort of a little bit perfect.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Harry whispers sternly a half hour later, when the popcorn is gone and Louis has scooted to lay on his side with his head on the armrest. “You promised you’d watch this with me!”

He doesn’t protest when Louis nudges his toes beneath his leg for warmth. “I won’t, kid, calm down. Eyes wide open, see?”

“I’m watching you, mister…”

“Shh. Watch the movie.”

A few quiet minutes later, Louis can feel a soft nudge to his elbow as Harry leans over to rest his head on Louis’ side, one arm tucked beneath him and the other lying open-palmed on Louis’ hip. “Is this okay?” Harry whispered.

 _I’m in love with you. Of course it’s okay._ “Yeah, doesn’t bother me.”

Somewhere along the line, Louis’ fingers got to carding through Harry’s hair absentmindedly as he watched the screen, and then Harry’s breaths got deeper and deeper, until finally the soundtrack of the movie included the quiet snores of the boy by his side.

Louis looked down, surprised, at the kid who had just chastised him about not falling asleep an hour before. The irony didn’t escape Louis’ notice, nor did the fact that Harry’s face was turned up, not towards the screen. He had fallen asleep gazing at Louis, not at the movie he seemed to love so much.

It made Louis’ heart melt. Here he was jumping through hoops for some guy he was in love with, and apparently all he had to do to please him was just sit there and look pretty. Definitely something to tease him about in the morning, right after he gave a full report on the plot of this stupid movie (which in the end was not _extremely_ terrible). That would probably make Harry smile. Louis quite enjoyed Harry’s smile, especially when he put it there.

He kept watching until the credits rolled, his hand never stilling in Harry’s hair and the breath tickling his skin never faltering. When the menu screen came up, he was satisfied to just look down at the face cradled in the curve of his waist, to watch the flutter of Harry’s eyelids as he dreamed about something that was hopefully very pleasant.

Zayn came in well past midnight from wherever he’d been, eyes tired and hair askew and body dragging like a man well ready for bed. He still had the energy to raise an eyebrow at the scene on his couch.

“Fell asleep watching a movie,” Louis said in the barest of whispers.

“Yeah? He never falls asleep during movies… must have been really comfortable,” Zayn whispered back with a grin. Louis beamed. “We should probably get him to bed though, he’s got class at 8.”

Which Louis knew, of course, and he’d thought about that over an hour ago. But. Surely the selfish act of wanting to observe the way long, lanky hands could be made curled and childlike by sleep and tucked into Louis' pocket wouldn’t hurt anyone in the long run.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he simply replied. Harry slumbered on. “Harry? Babe? Wake up.” Louis ran his thumb across Harry’s cheek, gently nudging, until green eyes fluttered into wakefulness. “Hey, sweetheart. You should go to bed. It’s late.”

“Did I- I fell asleep?” mumbled Harry, lifting his head to survey the room in sleepy confusion. “But… the movie…”

“We’ll watch it another time, I promise. Go on, get to bed, then.” Louis carefully nudged the drowsy giant into a sitting position and, before he could think better of it, planted a kiss on his cheek. With that, Harry smiled, stood, and stumbled into the bedroom.

Zayn shut the door after him and turned back to Louis. “What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Louis asked slowly, reading Zayn’s mood in the lines of his body. “Are you _laughing?_ What’s so funny?”

“Oh my god,” Zayn mumbled with an expression of wonder. “Holy _shit._ You’re like, properly in love with him, aren’t you?”

Louis felt the blood rise to his cheeks in an instant. “What? Who, me? With Harry? Why would you think that, I never said-”

“I saw the way you were looking at him, Lou, I’m not an idiot. I mean, Niall told me about you being drunk and blabbing about liking him, but _this-”_

“Niall told you about that?” Louis moaned, barely remembering to keep his voice quiet. “I’m going to kill that little shit!”

“Oh, come off it, I promised I wouldn’t tell. And you know how shit he is at keeping secrets.”

“I… yeah, okay, that’s true. Fair play. But I’m not- I mean, I wouldn’t say that I’m…” Louis’ mouth was suddenly very dry. “He just told you that I _like_ Harry.”

Zayn wasn’t fooled. “Yeah, but I’ve seen that look before, mate. How deep are you?”

“I’m not-”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lou.”

“I’m… pretty far gone. To be honest.”

To his credit, Zayn didn’t say ‘I told you so’ or tease him or pester him for details. That wasn’t Zayn’s way. He just clapped Louis on the back with a friendly smile, headed for the bedroom, and called over his shoulder a quiet, “I’ll see ya, mate.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Louis mumbled as the door closed. _And there it is,_ he thought as he gathered his stuff to go home. The secret was out, at least a little bit. He was in love, and apparently everyone knew it.

(Which, in the end, was not _extremely_ terrible.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tell you what, when it comes to reading people, Louis is the master but Zayn is a damn good apprentice. (sunglasses emoji)
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: boys doing sexual things to other boys (sly flirty emoji)

It had to have been Liam who spilled the beans about Louis’ birthday. Niall was still smarting from the friendly punch to the arm Louis gave him after the _last_ secret he blabbed. December 24th had arrived and who should appear on the Teasdale doorstep with birthday balloons but Harry “deliberately wasn’t told but somehow knew anyways” Styles.

“I went through his phone, don’t be mad,” Harry said with a grin before Louis could open his mouth. “He wouldn’t tell me so I looked for myself.”

“You’re ridiculous,” replied Louis with a roll of his eyes, even as he accepted the hug and the balloons Harry offered. “I didn’t want you to know because I knew you’d make a fuss.”

“Of course I’m going to! You’re turning 22-”

“Fuck that,” Louis laughed. “I’m getting old. Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. Shouldn’t you be off doing Christmas things?”

“No, I should be here, giving you your birthday present. It’s wrinkle cream, by the way,” he added slyly. “Since you’re getting on in years and all.”

It wasn’t, of course, when Louis was coerced to open it. It was an anklet made of woven black cord with a little silver plaque that read simply, _The Prince._ “I figured you’re kind of like Prince Charming, always swooping in to save damsels in distress,” Harry quietly explained. “If you don’t like it, I can return it, I just thought it was cute-”

“I love it,” Louis said honestly. It was heartfelt, creative, and completely unnecessary. In other words, the perfect gift. Add that to a nickname (sort of) from Harry, and he was satisfied.

Harry was not. “So what do you want to do now, birthday boy? What are the big plans?””

“Nothing. I’m serious, I don’t want any fuss. Yeah?”

“Why not?” Harry frowned, staring Louis down in concern. “What’s so bad about celebrating your birthday? You love when people pay attention to you.”

_Yeah, but if I’m not careful I’ll forget it’s just birthday kindness and not you loving me the way I love you. It’s easier to stay cool about this if I keep my distance, and if I stay cool then you don’t get dragged through my shit. So if no party means you get out unscathed, I’ll just sit at home, thanks._

“Told you, I’m getting old,” laughed Louis.

Harry let it drop after that- he was starting to get good at knowing both when Louis was avoiding something and when it was worth it to even try to push. Maybe he just wanted to let Louis have his way since it was his birthday, but in any case he allowed Louis to just hang out on Lou’s couch all day with Harry by his side and no mention of festivities whatsover.

“I’m bored,” Louis chirped when afternoon was fading into evening. Lou and Tom were starting to talk about Christmas Eve dinner, and he thought he’d heard ‘cake’ tossed around. Which was a very strong cue that it was time for him to duck out and avoid fuss.

“What do you want to do?” was Harry’s immediate reply. “I don’t have any plans for tonight, so whatever you feel like doing, I’m in. If you want me to be, I mean.”

“Of course, yeah. You’re behaving yourself and not mentioning the day, so you may tag along on my great escape.”

“Your great- what are you escaping?”

Lou chose that exact moment to pop her head around the corner from the kitchen and say, “We don’t have the right candles to make 22, so you’ll just have to have 22 small candles. That okay?”

“Whatever’s fine,” Louis replied. “We’re escaping _that,”_ he added under his breath when she was gone again.

Harry gave him a very stern, disapproving look. “They’re being nice and making you a cake. Shouldn’t you stay?”

“I promise I’ll come back and eat the cake, mum. I just- I have to get out, okay?” Louis whispered a little desperately. “I feel like I’m suffocating. Regular attention is fine. Special attention makes it hard to breathe. If you want to stay, though, that’s fine-”

“No way, I’m coming with you,” Harry smiled. “You’re acting weird, so we’ll probably have an adventure or something.”

Louis did feel quite adventurous, when they’d snuck out into the snowy dusk with only a note to mark their exit. “It’s fucking freezing out here,” he mumbled in a half-laugh, trying to hide his face from the harsh, biting cold of the wind. “Why did we think this was a good idea?”

“Dunno, it was yours to start with. Unlock the car, please, I can’t feel my fingers.”

“I’ll do the petals, but you’re going to have to steer,” Louis joked once they were in and the heat was on full blast. “I’m not taking my hands out of my pockets.”

“Neither am I. This was a terrible idea.” Harry’s teeth were chattering just from the 60 seconds they spent outside.

Louis smiled into the scarf he’d wound around his face. “This reminds me of a song I wrote once. Had some awful cheesy line in it about being ready to leave with nowhere to go.”

“Yeah? Sing it for me!”

“Can’t. I’ll let all my warmth out and die of hypothermia. Besides, it won’t sound right without piano.”

“You told me ages ago you’d play for me, but you never have,” Harry gently reminded him. “I’ve been waiting very patiently.”

“Yes you have,” Louis conceded graciously. “You want me to play for you now? Well not _now,_ but- shall we go somewhere that I can?”

“Are you serious? Yeah, sure!”

Harry was lit up like a Christmas tree. It was worth the possible frostbite on Louis’ fingers as he drove them back across town to campus. “Well at least we don’t have to worry about finding a spot in the car park,” chirped Louis, surveying the ghost town that was King’s College.

“Is the music department even open?” Harry asked hesitantly. “It looks like everything’s shut down for Christmas Eve…”

“It is.”

“‘It is’ open, or ‘it is’ closed?”

“Closed. Come on, I’m cold.”

“But why are we here if it’s closed?” Harry protested, even as he obediently got out and followed Louis across the snow.

“Well it isn’t closed to _us,_ I know how to get in. Oh, don’t look so shocked,” he laughed at Harry’s dumbfounded expression. “You just have to know all the right -or wrong, I guess- people. Like the guy who knows the security cameras on this wing’s circuits don’t work, and the kid who tapes the back door open so he can come out here to smoke during lectures without getting locked out.”

“That’s horrible,” Harry said firmly. “And illegal.”

“The smirk on your face doesn’t look too horrified. You coming in out of the cold, or what?”

Harry laughed and obeyed without any further argument. Even with the heat turned down while the building was meant to be empty, the carpets and acoustic tiles of the music wing kept it feeling relatively warm. Louis navigated the space with ease, having spent a good portion of his time here over the last three years. Put a musician in a dorm room too small for even a keyboard and he’d find a way to make music anyways.

“Here we are,” Louis announced boldly as they approached the baby grand tucked into one corner. “Not the best spot acoustically, but it works.”

When he turned around to look, Harry was already sitting on the floor next to the bench, legs crossed and hands folded in his lap like a kid at storytime. “I think it’s lovely. So what’s this song of yours called?”

Louis winced as he realized an important oversight- music. “I don’t have my sheet music with me,” he groaned. “And I don’t have that one memorized. Shit!”

“Oh.” Harry’s disappointment was obvious, but he smiled sadly as he stood. “Another time, then.”

“Well, I could- I could play you something else, if you’d like,” Louis offered quickly. “I’ve got a couple songs memorized. If you want, that is.”

Harry just smiled quietly. “Whatever you’ve got, I’d love to hear.”

“Okay, um. I’m probably a little rusty, I haven’t played this one in a while.”

“I’m sure you’re fantastic.”

“Don’t laugh or anything.”

“Of course not. It’s no big deal, Lou, I’m just excited to hear you play.”

_Yeah, no big deal except performing in front of the man you’re in love with when you know he’s talented himself and you really, really want to impress him._

“Alright, Harry, don’t pout about it or anything. Um. Here we go.”

Louis’ fingers moved of their own accord across the keys, dancing out the tune that his muscles had learned long ago. It was one of the first songs he’d taught himself to play, before he’d ever gotten lessons or read music. He’d just sat himself down one day with a song stuck in his head and determination in his eyes and made it happen. Now here it was coming back to serve him all these years later.

 _“If I don’t say this now, I will surely break, as I’m leaving the one I wanna take. Forget the urgency, but hurry up and wait. My heart is starting to separate…”_ It feels good, to have music coming effortlessly out of his mouth and his hands. It’s simple, no feelings or complications or ‘shoulds.’ Just him and a piano and an honest declaration.

_“Oh, oh, be my baby, and I’ll look after you.”_

When the final chord thrummed in the air and faded away in the stillness of the room, Louis finally dared to look at his audience of one. Harry was leaning against the side of the piano with a wide smile and eyes that glittered with happiness. “That was fantastic, Lou!” he whispered, like talking too loudly would disturb the moment. “You’re a natural at playing, and your voice is so- warm, and- really, _really_ good.”

Harry came around the side of the piano and leaned down to pull Louis into a hug so tight he could hardly breathe. “Thank you, Harry,” he whispered when the younger boy had let go.

“No, thank _you,”_ Harry smiled in return. “That was wonderful. I didn’t expect to be getting presents, since it’s _your_ bir- erm, Christmas Eve,” he added cheekily.

“If you keep that up, I’ll make you walk home.” An empty threat, of course, and Harry’s snicker confirmed he knew it. Louis felt the best he’d felt all day. “But. You’re welcome. I guess.”

“No problem. Now- do you take requests?”

………….

Watching Lux open presents Christmas morning with unrivaled enthusiasm sort of reminds Louis about everything good and pure in the world, even at the same time it was making him miss his own little ones back home. Call him a sucker for his little sisters, but he’d been saving up the last eight paychecks to buy them all the best presents. He just had a thing for watching little faces light up, okay?

His bags were already packed for the train, which left at noon from the station there in London. Two hours later and he’d be back in Doncaster with his family and he was starting to count the minutes.

**_(Harry, 10:14 AM)_ ** _Hiiiiii. Merry Christmas!!_

**_(Louis, 10:15 AM)_ ** _Morning! Merry Christmas to you, too, babe_

**_(Harry, 10:16 AM)_ ** _Are you on the train yet??_

**_(Louis, 10:18 AM)_ ** _Nahh, doesn’t leave til noon! I’m just hanging out here til then._

**_(Harry, 10:19 AM)_ ** _Do you want to hang out here instead? I’m just watching TV, and Zayn just left to go to a friend’s place so I’m alone on Christmas_

**_(Louis, 10:20 AM)_ ** _A crime! Yeah, sure :) I was gonna drop your present on the way to the sta, didn’t want to ruin your xmas plans!_

**_(Harry, 10:22 AM)_ ** _Well you’re welcome to ruin any and all plans :)_

Louis made his farewells to the Teasdales -who were gracious enough not to mention that ducking out early to hang out with Harry was starting to become a habit- and drove through the snowy Christmas quiet in the London streets until he was outside Harry’s building. He was extra careful not to slip on the ice coating the stairs, lest he fall to his death- or worse, drop Harry’s present into a snowbank.

“Merry Christmas!” Harry declared again with childlike enthusiasm as he answered the door. “I made hot chocolate. And pancakes. You probably already ate, but my mum always made me pancakes on Christmas, so-”

“There’s always room for pancakes,” Louis firmly replied. “And hot chocolate might bring back the feeling in my fingers, so I’m on board with that too. You might have to feed them to me, though, I’m not sure I can hold a fork just yet.”

Harry laughed, and as soon as he’d thawed out Louis helped himself to the heaping plate of pancakes Harry put before him. “These are fantastic,” he mumbled around a mouthful when he was halfway through the stack. “I think I’m going to throw up. But. Fantastic.”

“Don’t throw up, we haven’t done presents yet!” Harry beamed, then went into the bedroom and returned with his hands behind his back. “Close your eyes,” he commanded.

“Seriously?” Louis whined, even as his eyes fluttered shut in obedience. “You already got me a present, you didn’t have to get me another.”

“Yeah, but that was for your birthday. This is for Christmas! And… open your eyes.”

Louis did, to find a framed drawing that he recognized at once to be Zayn’s handiwork. It was him, all bright blue eyes and knowing smile, donned in a superhero outfit of blue and silver. The chest was a giant question mark, and beautiful script beneath the figure read, _Smarter than your average genius, more nosey than the Spanish, able to read small minds in a single glance, it’s-_

_THE TOMMO._

He burst into startled laughter and looked at Harry in delight. “This is brilliant! Did Zayn come up with this himself?”

“I came up with it, actually,” Harry proudly declared. “Zayn just drew it. Do you like it?”

“This is brilliant, Harry, really. I fucking love it! Always wanted to be a superhero, and now I am,” teased Louis. “I’m going to hang this up in my dorm room, this is seriously sick.”

Harry only beamed his pleasure.

“Have showed up my present for you, though,” Louis tacked on. “Should have known you’d outdo me.”

“Oh? What’s mine?”

“Boots, exactly like the ones you had but wore holes through. _Yes,_ I noticed. I notice everything, dork. Including your shoe size, so they should fit.”

“Thanks, Louis,” Harry blushed when he pulled them out of the box. “For the shoes and for, like, noticing. It’s really sweet.”

“That’s me- smart, attentive, and apparently very nosey.”

“I was only joking! I didn’t mean that in a bad way, I just meant that you were always asking questions and stuff-”

“I’m teasing,” Louis interrupted with a laugh before Harry could get too worked up. “I promise. Now, what else do you do on Christmas?”

Louis absolutely refused to go freeze his arse off making a snowman - “I’ve got a train ride in an hour, Harry, I’m not going to soak through my clothes now!” -so they settled instead on watching the claymation Rudolph on TV while they finished all of the hot chocolate in the flat. There was a happy warmth in Louis’ heart that made him feel like he was glowing all over. He ignored it and scooched a little closer to Harry- it’s Christmas, after all.

Something catches his eye from across the room during a commercial break and makes him burst into laughter. “Is that _mistletoe?”_ he asked delightedly as he pointed to the cluster of green above the bedroom door.

“Zayn says it is, but I googled it and I think that’s just moss,” Harry said doubtfully, pulling a face at the offending bunch. “He put it up as a joke and keeps trying to kiss me every time we’re even remotely near it. Not in a weird way, though, just like, cheek kisses,” he hastened to add.

“There’s mistletoe involved so it’s automatically not weird,” Louis informed him. “Just for the record. I’ve never been kissed under mistletoe, actually. Unless it happened at that one holiday party that I got too drunk to remember, but I don’t think that counts anyways.”

“Me neither,” Harry quietly added after a second. “I never… Thomas was my first boyfriend, and he didn’t, um, he didn’t allow kissing.”

All of the warmth drained right out of Louis as he stared at the younger boy in shock. “Not, like, in public, or-?”

“Never. I never kissed Thomas, not in our whole eight months together. He said it was too intimate, and he didn’t… he didn’t want to be intimate with me.”

Suddenly it all makes sense to Louis. Why Harry’s world had crumbled when he saw Thomas kissing another woman, why he’d mumbled over and over again that _he kissed her, he kisses her before he goes._ The clumsiness of his mouth the night he kissed Louis, the horror when he pulled away and thought he’d ruined his friendship with Louis forever. These were all puzzle pieces falling together into one enormous, tearful picture.

“You guys did sexual stuff, but he never let you kiss him?” Louis asked quietly.

“No, never. I’m nineteen and I’ve never even been kissed- how embarrassing is that?” Harry tacked on with a dry smile.

Louis started digging deep to find a sense of humor hiding somewhere beneath the weight on his chest. “Well you’ve kissed me, haven’t you? And neither of us blacked out so it counts.”

The blush on Harry’s face tripled in darkness. “That doesn’t- that didn’t count!” he rushed to say. “Cause it wasn’t like, romantic. And definitely not a proper snog.”

“Yeah, alright, fair enough. You’re missing out though,” he teased as gently as he could.

It makes Harry get very quiet, so quiet that Louis starts fretting that he’s crossed a line he can’t uncross. But Harry’s just picking at his sleeve and searching for words, because after a long pause he just quietly says, “You could show me how.”

There isn’t even time for the words to sink into Louis’ stunned brain before more words are tumbling out of Harry’s mouth. “I mean, you're probably really good at it, because you're so popular and experienced and… I dunno.”

Louis didn’t answer, _couldn’t_ answer. “Harry, I- I, um-”

"I shouldn't have asked. Sorry. I know you don't want to kiss me or anything, it was rude to say." Harry was instantly contrite, his eyes teary and glued to the ground in a way that was never, ever Louis’ intention.

"It's alright, I'm not mad,” he soothed, because he _wasn’t._ How could he be mad at such an earnest question, all wrapped up in compliments and blushes and honesty? It was just that his brain was completely occupied with trying to think of a single reason why he should say no… and for the moment, coming up empty.

So when a quiet voice confessed, "It’s just… you were kidding, before, but. I am. Missing out. I feel like I've missed out on something important, being 19 and never being kissed. And I just…  I probably shouldn’t have said it, but I think I really meant it."

That just sort of seals the deal.

“Okay,” he says softly as he turns to sit sideways on the couch. “Face me.”

“Wh- what?”

“If you really want me to, I’ll be your first kiss.”

It was Harry’s turn now to glow, his face alight with excitement. Louis expected denials, or questions, or anything, but Harry was wordless as he moved to sit as Louis instructed. Maybe he didn’t dare to question it. Louis knew the feeling.

Harry’s still as a mouse as Louis scoots a little closer, until their knees bump on the couch between them. He jumps at the touch, so Louis lays a soothing hand on his leg. “Relax, babe, it’s alright,” he said calmly. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

“Okay.”

Louis reaches both hands up to cup Harry’s face, featherlight touches. “Don’t forget to breathe,” he reminds himself.

“Okay,” Harry replies breathlessly. He leans in towards Louis like subtle instinct.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay.”

At first when Louis kisses him, Harry is still and quiet beneath his lips. He is held in suspense, not daring to move, not daring to think too loudly lest the dream shatters and reality fails to live up. So Louis moves his lips on Harry’s, slowly, quietly, coaxing until finally there was movement and life and breath again. Harry was melting into him, sighing into his mouth, and everything felt right.

“That okay?” Louis asked faintly when he had to pull back for air.

“Y-yeah. That’s was r-really great,” Harry returned. “Are you, um. You said you’d teach me?”

It feels silly at first, to be murmuring instructions on how to move his lips, how gently to suck, how to tease with caresses of the tongue or grazes of the teeth. It feels silly, because kissing is instinct, and Harry is growing more confident every second until Louis has nothing left to teach him. But if it kept Harry’s mouth on his, he might say just about anything.

The words stop. The kisses don’t. Louis is cradling Harry’s head with one hand while the other grips the back of the couch for dear life. It’s as much _Harry_ kissing _him_ now as the other way around, and Louis doesn’t protest. It’s like the longer he’s in contact with Harry’s skin, the less his mind works and the more difficult it becomes to remember why he hasn’t been doing this all along.

Why did he ever think it was wrong when it felt so fucking _right?_

It doesn’t help that Harry’s kissing is basically perfect. How often is it that you get to mould your lover into someone who kisses exactly the way you like to be kissed? It was the perfect amount of pressure, just the right pull. Flawless. If there had been any doubt before, it was gone now. Louis was lost in the moment, just enjoying the feel of skin on his, the touch of lips, the intimacy of being near someone that he loved.

Louis almost didn’t notice when he started to push harder against Harry’s mouth, when they started to mesh together at more than just the lips, when he started to lean Harry back until he was lying on his back with Louis hovering above him. Louis’ hand got tangled in Harry’s hair, pulling his head back without the idea even penetrating the fuzz of his mind.

Harry was responding. He was flushed all over, his heartbeat thudding in his ears and hands gripping Louis’ shirt for dear life. Every time Louis’ mouth left his, he was panting for air, like he was running a marathon instead of lying underneath someone. When he could spare the energy, he tried to keep in the breathy little whimpers that kept slipping out against his will.

The noises enchanted Louis. They were like something out of a dream… _the_ dream. The first time Harry had ever captivated him at night like he did during the day, and here he was like dream incarnate, just as recklessly undone as he had been in Louis’ mind. He really can’t help himself. Louis’ mouth travels from lips to jaw, to behind the ear, roaming over Harry’s throat in search of a spot that might make Harry keen like he always had in Louis’ imagination-

Maybe he’s found it, because all of a sudden the trembling mess of a boy beneath him goes from shaking to still and the hands on his waist clench tighter and he’s moaning Louis’ name in a way that could be heaven or possibly sin itself.

And it might not even have been earthshattering enough to make Louis stop his sweet assault on Harry’s skin, if it weren’t for the fact that the boy was now slack beneath his touch. He could feel that same pulse pounding away in the veins beneath his lips, but there were no more hands on his waist. No more whimpers. Only quiet, and something was very wrong.

The wide-eyed look of horror on Harry’s face pretty much confirmed it.

Instantly, Louis is pressed up against the opposite arm of the couch, as far away from Harry as possible. “I don’t- I, um-” But what was there to say? _I’m sorry that I forgot myself for a minute and made it my goal to unravel you even though we’ve set boundaries and we’re strictly pals haha oops._

But even as embarrassed as he is, he can’t hope to compare to the mortification on Harry’s face. He’s an inch from tears, if not closer. His hands are shaking, and beneath the flush of his skin he is paler than he’s ever been. It looked a little like…

“Harry? What’s the matter, babe, you look terrified,” Louis asked gently, in case words might make Harry crumble or something.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered. “That was- I’m so embarrassed. Oh my _god.”_

Words continue to get stuck in Louis’ head before he can find some to push out, regardless of whether they’re the right ones. “Oh. Um, don’t be. It was me, I’m the one who got all into it, that was my bad.”

“No, I’m not- I’m not talking about that.”

“Then- what?”

Harry’s teeth worried at his already-swollen lip before slowly, tearfully, he reached down to lift up the hem of his shirt with one shaking hand. The other tugs down the waistband of his jeans just enough so that Louis can see the mess of cum smeared across Harry’s hipbone.

_Oh._

There’s not a single damn thing that Louis can think of to say. He stares for a few long, tense seconds. As soon as he can remember things about legs working to move bodies to different places and stuff like that, he’s standing and striding quietly to the bathroom. He returns with a warm, damp washcloth that he wordlessly hands over.

He looks away while Harry cleans himself off and waits for him to say something, since Louis is still beyond stumped. Finally, he does. “I'm so sorry that I- you probably didn't want me to, um..."

That, at least, snapped Louis out of his internal monologue of _you fucked up oh shit you idiot fucked up fucked up fucked UP_ to jump to his own condemnation. "No, this is my fault. I let that go way too far. I was supposed to be teaching you how to kiss, not... freaking getting you off,” he said firmly. It’s never felt dirtier on his tongue.

He gets surer as the frenzy of his mind settles down into neat apologies and tidy explanations. “I shouldn't be sending you mixed signals like this, it isn't fair,” he explains with only a little misery. _“I_ don't even know what this means, how could _you?”_

"Does it... does it have to mean anything? Can't it just be something good that happened?"

Louis actually laughs out loud at that. What must it be like, to have such a pure and simple view of the world? "Of course it has to mean something. Everything always does."

"Okay. But can it mean something good?"

That’s just it; it inarguably can’t.

"Harry, do you know what I have a reputation for around campus?” Louis forced out past the enormous lump in his throat. “A reputation for never going past the first night. I'm like, a professional at getting guys off and then never talking to them again. How could this _possibly_ be a good thing?"

"You said you liked me. Even if you didn't think it was okay to date yet, this doesn't mean- this doesn't have to be-"

The fear gushing out of the dark recesses of Louis’ mind cuts off Harry’s hope as soon as it begins. "But what if it does, Harry? What if I've just crossed a line and fucked it all up? I can't even begin to count all of the ways this could go wrong." _This is it you’ve ruined it all you’re going to ruin him you’re no good taking advantage all wrong not enough too much fuck fuck fuck-_

And Harry just doesn’t understand. "So don't count them."

"I have to."

"You don't-"

"I _do.”_

"Can't you just for one minute shut off your stupid brain and stop analyzing the life out of everything?!"

In reality, Harry’s voice is just below a shout. But it’s plenty loud enough to echo around in Louis’ head. Truth has a way of doing that.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry whispered, horrified all over again on a whole new level. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t- I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s- you’re right. Um, I should go.”

“No, don’t,” Harry pled. “I didn’t mean it. I can’t believe I even said that, I’m just being stupid and mean and-”

“You’re being honest,” Louis corrected with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And I have a train to catch.”

Harry stutters about fifteen more apologies before Louis is out the door, but Louis can’t find the energy to respond to any of them. He feels a little empty. It makes him shiver worse than the snow.

He’s already on the train by the time he realizes that he forgot his present at Harry’s. The twinge of regret that brings is the first thing he’s felt in an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee that was an emotional roller coaster that's my bad, guys, my bad
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	17. Chapter 17

You didn’t have to be a nurse like Louis’ mum to be able to see that something was very off inside of Louis’ head for the next few days. He got maybe a total of 5 hours of sleep, ate only what was practically shoved down his throat, and even when he smiled it didn’t reach his eyes. Which was not to say that he was _unhappy,_ exactly, just… distracted.

He wouldn’t fess up, no matter how much his mother fretted or nosey Lottie pestered. All they knew was that Louis was off and that he was pretending not to be and that someone was doing an incredible job of blowing up his phone.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Lottie huffed after yet another text buzzed on its way to Louis’ inbox. “That’s like the fifteenth time this morning.”

Louis knew that, of course. Just like he knew that there were exactly 63 texts from Harry in a row, without a single response back. And he knew that, therapeutically speaking, icing Harry out wasn’t a fair method. But it was just so hard to _think_ when there were a million variations on-

_Lou, are you okay?  
I’m so, so sorry.  
_ _Hope your train got there okay :)  
_ _Can I just get one text?  
_ _I know you probably don’t want to talk to me. But. Please?  
_ _I’m really really sorry. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.  
_ _Louis?  
_ _Are we okay?  
_ _Please talk to me._

Lottie was watching his face as he checked the latest message, clicked it shut, and put his phone back on the table without replying. “If you don’t want to talk to the guy, could you at least tell _him_ that? If I have to hear your ringtone one more time I’m going to lose it.”

“Who says it’s a boy?” Louis returned defensively.

“You look like you’re in pain every time your phone goes off, I’ve certainly never seen you act that way over a _girl.”_

That jab wasn’t graced with a reply, but Louis did take his phone back out to type up a quick, _Need to think, I’ll text/call you when I’m ready_ in response to the assault on his inbox. Vague enough that Harry wouldn’t quite be satisfied, but at least he’d be reassured enough to let Louis have his space.

And truth be told, Lottie was right- Louis _was_ in pain. Not answering his phone wasn’t a punishment for Harry, it was a last-ditch attempt to block out distraction long enough to let Louis calm the spinning of his mind.

Everything was even more complicated now than it was before. They had kissed- they had properly _snogged-_ and both been ridiculously into it. As soon as Louis had Harry beneath him, all logic had flown out the window and he was just focused on making the boy come undone. In the stark light of day he could see a list of reasons why that was a bad idea unfolding before him.

Maybe it wouldn’t be quite so horrible if Harry weren’t… Harry. Louis had made Harry fall apart without even touching him, and it could have just been that, if he were another person. But the problem was that no matter what Harry said, this wasn’t something he was just going to let go. This was going to mean something, and that put Louis on the hook, and that guaranteed that he was going to let Harry down.

Because Louis had never been good at living up to expectations, whether they were lofty or not, and even if Harry could forgive that, Louis couldn’t. He had enough hopes and dreams for Harry to fill up every house in London, and not one of them included getting into a hasty relationship with a guy who he was only infatuated with because he’d been there in his hour of need.

The bottom line was that Harry probably only _thought_ he wanted to be with Louis, and in time he’d see that things were different than they seemed and Louis didn’t want to be around to see that realization dawning in his eyes.

But.

Even though Louis _knew_ all of these things, he couldn’t quite feel them. There was no conviction in his gut, only butterflies.

If he went with what his gut told him, or his heart, his hand was halfway to his phone to buy a train ticket back to London with stops along the way for chapstick and flowers so he could sweep that stupid kid off his feet and kiss his mouth for four days straight without stopping. If he paid attention to what he felt, he felt only the overwhelming sensation of rightness and belonging and relief that came with the idea of letting go of everything he thought he ‘should’ do and just letting it happen.

Louis was usually pretty good at listening to his heart.

He made the decision at 2:21am on December 28th, two and a half days after he’d had his first truly in-the-moment experience in years. Two and a half days after he’d somehow, inexplicably, let go.

He doesn’t bother stopping at Lou’s first when he gets back to London. They’ll be there later. Right now there is only one face he needs to see, and it’s one with pale skin and too-pink lips and bright green eyes framed by bouncy curls whose image has been lingering behind his eyelids for a week and beyond.

“Louis,” Harry exhales in relief when he opens the door. “Hey. I was worried, you seemed really upset when you left and I thought-”

“I need to talk for a minute,” Louis interrupted a little breathlessly. “I need to get this off of my chest before I think better of it. Can you just- can you listen for a minute?”

Harry’s eyes were wide and he looked like he was hanging onto the doorframe for dear life, but he nodded like he was steady. “Y-yeah. Of course.”

And with that, Louis took one last deep breath and plunged headfirst into uncharted waters.

"It's stupid- like, really stupid, because you're some absolute angel with nothing but good things to add to the world I'm an asshole punk kid who never shuts up and thinks too much. But I've been thinking, and it's really, really stupid, but I want to be with you. Is that okay? Because everything always means something, and I think the fact that I spent all last night thinking of you instead of sleeping means that you're the kind of thing that's only going to happen to me once in a lifetime. And maybe you’re vulnerable and maybe you think I’m better than I am, but I’ve seen you get so strong and so smart in the last few months that I’d be crazy not to trust you, so I think that if you could maybe tolerate all of my bad habits, I would really like to call you my boyfriend and snog your stupid face and tell you on a daily basis that my whole world revolves around you a bit. If that's okay."

At first, the pause that followed Louis’ words made his heart plummet, because all he could see were the wide eyes and startled ‘o’ of a mouth adorning Harry’s face without a trace of any happiness or sadness or anger- nothing. There was nothing there for Louis to read, and for a few seconds he worried whether honesty _is_ always the best policy.

But then there are big, warm hands cupping his face and soft lips bruising against his own in a fierce kiss. “Oh my god,” Harry mumbled between kisses. “I can’t- oh my god.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Jesus Christ, yeah,” Harry swore, looking like every cell in his body was trembling. Louis laughed at the sight. “And I didn’t mean what I said, about your brain. It’s not stupid at all. Your brain is lovely."

"I think too much and it makes me act like a dick sometimes. You were right to be mad at me for it. So."

"You can’t agree with me, I took it back.” Harry wound his arms around Louis’ waist and hugged him tight like the smaller boy might try to run away again or something.

“Well whether you took it back or not, the fact is that I’m a prick and- hey!” Louis protested weakly around Harry’s lips as he was kissed again, hard. “Are you trying to snog me into submission?”

“I’m distracting you. I'm your boyfriend, I get to do that.”

Louis rolled his eyes like he wasn’t flushing red. "Oh my god. What are you, twelve?"

“I specifically remember you saying you intended to snog my face off a minute ago. I’m just trying to make an honest man out of you, is all. Now shut up and kiss me back, please.”

It wasn’t really a request that was in Louis’ power to deny, so he sort of just gave in. He hadn’t won that argument. He also couldn’t remember how to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shortie, sorry! But at least you can all quit being mad at Louis and bask in the glory of an otp realized :P (triumphant music plays in background)
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	18. Chapter 18

It’s easy for Louis to fall into a routine with Harry. It’s sort of like an exhale, to be in love with him, because it’s the natural conclusion here. Inhale, and he’s with Harry. Exhale and he’s _with_ Harry. There’s nothing as natural as breathing, after all.

The only thing that changes is the way that now there are kisses, there are touches, there are fond glances that they weren’t allowed to do before. It seems stupid, that Louis was ever so full of caution that he wouldn’t let this happen. It’s just loving Harry. It’s just breathing.

That’s the only thing that changes, though. On the whole, their day-to-day life remains unaltered as they go about their routines of work and school and friends. Harry still insists on helping Louis reach his full potential. Louis still makes it a point to remind Harry he’s a worthwhile human being.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells Harry casually one day, when the younger boy has just woken up from a nap on Louis’ couch. He’s a mess of curls and oddly-folded limbs with his shirt riding up around his chest and one sock completely missing. Louis means what he says.

Harry is too sleepy to hold onto the words before they slip away. “Hmm?”

“I said you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh,” Harry says with a blush, tugging his shirt down in sudden self-consciousness. “Erm, thanks.”

“I’m serious, you are,” Louis gently insists. “You’re the fittest lad to ever sleep on my couch, and I’ve thrown a _lot_ of parties that got out of control.”

“You need to find fitter friends, then.”

“You’re not serious?” Louis asks, even as he realizes that Harry definitely is. “Harry, you know I hate lying- would I lie to you about this?”

Harry’s all seriousness now, sitting up on the couch and peering over at where Louis is perched on the coffee table. He has a deep, worried frown on. “Well. No, I guess. But you could be, like, mistaken. Or biased. Or something.”

Louis matches his gravity. “I could be,” he assents with a nod. “But I have facts on my side. You’ve got biceps as big as my thigh, a six-pack, and you could probably bench-press Liam. Yeah?”

“Um. Yeah, but-”

“And that’s not even talking about your actual natural facial beauty. Mostly because I can’t talk about your cheekbones or shit like that without feeling like a total twat.” Louis seizes the opportunity of Harry’s laugh and leans forward to cup his face with both hands. “Seriously, though, I can’t get around it. I do honestly think you’re the fittest lad I’ve ever seen, let alone called my boyfriend.”

There isn’t a response for a long time. Harry’s doing that thing that he does whenever he’s processing something new, where he stares at something off to the side with his brow furrowed for a few minutes with one hand picking at his bottom lip. This time the processing drags on for longer than usual, until finally Harry gives up and just looks at Louis in confusion.

Of course Louis understands the problem before Harry even does. “Did Thomas ever tell you that you were fit?” he asks gently.

The usual wince. “No, never,” Harry confesses after a moment. “He always told me that I was too… I dunno, too skinny. ‘Scrawny’ was the word he used, I think.”

“You’re literally more built than he was.”

“Well I didn’t always look this way,” Harry retorts as he rolls his eyes. “I never worked out before I met him. I only started going to the gym because-” He trails off.

“Because…?”

“Because I thought if I bulked up he would like me more,” mumbles Harry.

The textbook-readied response was to tell Harry that healthy relationships don’t require someone to change in order to be “good enough,” but Harry already knew that Thomas wasn’t healthy. Louis’ instinctual response was to say that Thomas had his head so far up his ass that nothing Harry tried would have ever won him affection, but Harry already knows that, too.

Instead he just leans forward and kisses Harry softly. “Well pre-muscles or not, he was fucking blind if he didn’t see how handsome you are. So. My win, then.”

Harry nods, his nose bumping into Louis’ a couple of times in the process. “I don’t really see it, but. I believe that you think so. And you’re, like, entitled to your opinion.”

Which wasn’t exactly gushing praise, but Louis would take it. He crawled across the gap in between the coffee table and the couch and laid out on top of Harry’s knees like an entitled cat. Harry pet his fringe and peppered his face with kisses until Louis had to pull away because it tickled too much.

“How was your day?” Louis asked later, when they were side by side in front of the telly with full bellies and matching sleepy smiles.

“I was with you the whole time,” Harry giggled.

“Yeah, but. Still matters how you feel about it!”

Harry glows. It’s one of those little things that still gets him, the fact that Louis actually cares. His opinions matter now, and his thoughts, and his feelings, and his experiences. Harry’s never been valued by someone before, as much as it shatters Louis to think. That’s why Harry loves it so much whenever he’s asked how he’s doing, or kissed all over just because. Someone is being affectionate and attentive to him, and Harry’s in heaven.

“I’m feeling super happy,” Harry says honestly, which is another thing he’s getting better at. He rarely even tries to gives answers other people want to hear anymore.

Although in this case, that’s precisely what Louis wants to hear. “Good, babe, I’m glad. I was almost a tiny bit worried my stupid friends would tease you out of your happiness today.”

That only makes Harry smile harder. Niall and Liam- and to a lesser extent, Zayn- had been teasing them nonstop ever since they announced that they were together. “Finally,” they’d sighed, almost in unison, bringing out an offended squeak from Louis and a sheepish burst of laughter from Harry.

“We kind of saw this coming since you met,” Zayn said kindly. “It’s not our fault you’re both daft.”

(For once, Louis kind of has to agree.)

…………………

They got exactly three weeks of domestic bliss before reality came knocking, and reality looked a lot like Thomas.

It was the first day of the spring semester, and Harry was already breaking his own rules. “We need to start the semester off right,” he’d told Louis very sternly. “No texting while we’re in class or you’re at work. We should both stay focused!” Louis had protested, Harry had insisted, and -as was becoming the norm for them- the victory eventually went to Harry. Which was why it surprised when his phone buzzed with 15 minutes left on his shift at the library.

**_(Harry, 3:44 PM)_ ** _Louis, are you coming home soon??? please be coming home soon…._

**_(Louis, 3:45 PM)_ ** _Miss me too much already? Knew this was a stupid rule :P_

**_(Harry, 3:45 PM)_ ** _Do you get off soon?? Louis… please I’m serious_

**_(Louis, 3:46 PM)_ ** _What’s the matter, babe? Tell me what’s wrong. Are you okay? I’m supposed to get off in 15 but I could duck out early if you need me to…_

**_(Harry, 3:47 PM)_ ** _I… please come home. I need you._

**_(Louis, 3:49 PM)_ ** _I’m on my way. Your place or mine?_

Harry’s, it turns out. When Louis arrives at the flat seven minutes later- a record time, if anyone’s keeping track, because how could he move slowly when Harry needs him?- he finds Harry balled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket from head to toe, quivering as Zayn sat next to him looking overwhelmed and out of his element.

Louis doesn’t even have to brush Zayn aside; as soon as he enters the room, a spot is cleared for him as Zayn backs off and makes room for someone more qualified. Harry must hear the door open and close or feel the shift of the cushions, because the quivering stops for a second. “Louis?”

“Yeah, babe, it’s me,” Louis says gently, like soothing a wounded animal. “What happened? What’s the matter? Did something go wrong with your classes, or-?”

“Some _one_ went wrong.”

It wasn’t clicking for Louis. Some _one?_ Did that mean an unpleasant classmate or a professor he didn’t like? Harry got on with everyone, so who could upset Harry this much just by showing up-

The tight line of Zayn’s lips confirmed the unfortunate conclusion Louis was rapidly coming to. He rubbed soothing circles on what he was pretty sure to be Harry’s shoulder area and asked, “Who was it, Harry?”

Two green eyes, rimmed with red, made an appearance between the folds of the quilt.

“Thomas,” he simply replied.

One of those rare moments had come about where Louis honestly couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Instead he draped his body over Harry like a second blanket, focusing on the steady in and out of his breath and hoping that it was in some way a comfort.

Harry didn’t say anything either.

Zayn opened his mouth first. “Thomas came back for the spring semester, and he has a management class with Haz. It was his 3:00 lecture.”

“I left after half an hour,” confessed Harry. “Sorry.”

Like _that_ was Louis’ concern. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you left, actually. Did he say anything to you?”

“He was… nice.”

Which definitely was _not_ what Louis expected to hear. Animosity was likely. Even pretending Harry didn’t exist would make sense. But Harry’s abuser –as Louis now had the balls to admit that Thomas was- being _nice_ to him?

Something was terribly, terribly wrong here.

“Sorry, what?” he blurted out, and a look at Zayn’s face showed that he was not alone in his disbelief. “When you say he was nice to you, do you- did- what?”

“He asked me how I was and said he was sorry for everything that happened between us. That he’s changed and he wants to be friends,” Harry said miserably.

“He just apologized? Just like that?” Zayn seethes. “He fucking ruined your life and he thinks he can say, ‘Oops, sorry!’ and have it all be good?”

“He does seem different though,” Harry says defensively. “Like just the way he was asking me how I’ve been and all. He was like, concerned for me and interested in what I had to say.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s fucking changed! He’s a liar and a creep, Harry-”

“You don’t know that, Zayn! Maybe he needed to take some time off to figure himself out or something.”

They continue to squabble back and forth while Louis takes several steadying breaths to stop his stomach from feeling quite so uneasy. It didn’t work. As horrible as it sounded, he would almost rather that Thomas had come in with angry words and taunting sneers. Harry had recovered from that once, he could do it again.

But an enemy that comes back looking like a friend… that was far more dangerous.

“Louis, help me out here,” Zayn was saying in exasperation.

He didn’t have any idea what they’d been arguing about for the last minute and a half, but Louis took the opportunity to speak anyways. He pulled aside the blanket to find Harry’s hands, clasped them in his own, and looked Harry right in the eye to make certain his point was received with all the gravity it demanded. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do. You know I do.”

“I think you need to drop out of that class.”

Zayn made a murmur of agreement, but Harry was already protesting. “I can’t just avoid everything that I don’t like for the rest of my life, Lou,” he said miserably. “I can deal with one semester in the same room as him, I’m not a wimp-”

“This isn’t about you being a wimp, or you facing your problems,” interrupted Louis. “It’s about the fact that this is so, _so_ bad for you right now. If it were just about surviving an hour and a half in the same room as him that’s one thing, but he’s not going to let you sit quietly.”

“What do you mean?” Harry’s eyes are wide and scared.

“I mean that he’s trying to manipulate you,” Louis immediately replied. There were times for mincing words and playing nice, and this was not one of them. “He’s going to make you think that he’s your friend and weasel his way back into your life, and then he’s going to turn out to be the same asshole who hurt you before.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I can and I do. Please, Harry, _please_ believe me when I say that you need to be running, fast, in the opposite direction.”

Louis has never felt so earnest in his life. Harry has never looked so unsure. “Are you saying you think I can’t- that I- what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying that no matter how smart you are or how strong you’ve become… this isn’t a battle of wills. His presence in your life is going to hurt you. Whether you come out okay in the end or not is irrelevant, because I don’t want you to be in a situation where I know you’re being hurt.” Louis reaches out to rest his palm on Harry’s cheek. “Please believe me.”

Harry looks like he might hesitate, but then softens into a sad smile. “Of course I believe you. You’re always right.”

“Not always, but nearly,” Louis sighs, relieved. “So you’ll drop the class?”

Much to Louis’ chagrin, Harry is shaking his head. “I can’t. It’s only offered in the spring, and I have to take this course to take the ones after it. If I drop out I’ll have to stay for a whole other year.”

“So talk to a counselor or something,” Zayn insists. “I’m with Louis, you need to get out of there. See if they’ll make an exception for you or _something.”_

“I already tried so that I could take some other electives, and they can’t,” Harry says sadly. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“That’s fine,” Louis insisted, though it wasn’t. He settled for plan B. “You just ice him out, that’s all. Don’t talk to him, don’t look at him, don’t breathe the same air if you can help it. I didn’t mean that in a controlling way,” he added with a wince. “I’m not like telling you not to talk to him because he’s your ex or anything.”

“No, I know,” Harry quickly assures him. “But… I don’t know if I can be mean to him like that. He did a lot of really terrible things, but if he _has_ changed, and I’m terrible to _him…”_

“Then he deserves it,” mumbles Zayn.

Louis chews the idea over and it has a sour taste. It’s such an intrinsically _Harry_ sort of concern- only someone as sweet and innocent as he was could be worried over whether they’d hurt the feelings of the person who tore them apart emotionally. To someone like Louis, who could see all sides and every emotion clearly, it didn’t make sense.

But Louis could see all sides and every emotion clearly, and that’s why he had to honor Harry’s inability to be cruel, even to Thomas. It wasn’t a matter of whether Louis thought friendliness was important here- what mattered was that _Harry_ did.

He finds himself carding his fingers through Harry’s curls, still halfway draped over him. “You do what you have to do, but you be safe,” he says, quiet but firm. “If you need to at least be cordial, then okay. It’s your decision. I just want you to be alright.”

Harry nods hesitantly. “I don’t want to be his friend. But I don’t want to be rude either.”

Zayn is obviously not as concerned about Harry’s point of view, because his face is red with anger. “That’s bullshit!” he snapped. “You can’t just throw your hands up and say, ‘oh well!’ Fucking fight for this, Harry!”

“There’s nothing I can do,” Harry protested, brow furrowing. “Do you think I _want_ this?”

“You’re sure as hell blasé about it!”

“Things are finally going right for me and Louis, this is the last thing I want and you know it.” He’s so mad that there are tears in his eyes.

“Right, so fucking _do_ something!” Zayn said desperately.

“I’m doing the best I can!”

“Both of you, knock it off,” Louis interrupted. “Zayn, you’re worried about Harry. Harry, you’re scared of what might happen. But you shouldn’t be yelling at each other like this- you’re best friends.”

Zayn looks like he wants to keep making his point, but he takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly and nods. “Louis’ right,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to fight, I’m just… frustrated. That you’re going to have to go through this.”

“I know,” Harry replies sheepishly, equally chastised. “Sorry. This is a stupid argument.”

“If he fucks with you I’m going to smash his face in,” warns Zayn. He doesn’t appear to be kidding.

Harry looks entirely more playful. “Unless Niall is there to hold you back, right?” he teases.

Zayn remembers he has to leave to go do a thing at a place right after that.

Louis stays at Harry’s flat with him for the entire rest of the day. Harry doesn’t exactly _say_ that he’s shaken, but then, he doesn’t have to. Louis knows, of course. It’s why he insists that they cancel all their plans and stay on the couch the whole time. He has Zayn bring home every comfort food he can think of and cooks it as best he can, because “Damn it Harry, you get to have a mopey day.”

“I thought you’d tell me not to dwell on it?” Harry said innocently, looking up at Louis.

“Darling,” Louis says very seriously. “Your abusive, violent, and manipulative ex-boyfriend just showed up in your class and wants to be buddies, and you have the intrinsic need to let him. It’s a shit situation. You get all the cheese toasties and Rocky Road you want.”

Maybe it’s the fact that Louis’ arms are already so inviting, but Harry doesn’t put up too much of a fight after that, just falls right into them and stays there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are gonna be so mad
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love seeing you guys stressed (laughing tears streaming emoji). Hopefully this helps!
> 
> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, and... _**boys doing things to other boys' penises**_ (sly flirty emoji)
> 
> Enjoy!

The world continues to turn on its axis, despite the fact that everything feels a little unsteady now that Thomas is back. They can’t quite ignore him; Harry reports that Thomas makes small talk with him before every class and insists taking the desk next to his own. They try very hard to ignore him anyway.

Harry copes by seeking comfort from Louis, by turning to him like a flower to the sun, seeking any small trickle of affection he might be afforded. Louis copes by providing a flood. He can’t control whether there are negative presences in Harry’s life, as much as he’d like to be able to. He can, however, make sure that the good far outweighs the bad.

He isn’t alone in the endeavor- Liam and Niall are now almost as protective of Harry as Zayn is, and the three of them rally around him in their unique little ways to make sure he feels loved and supported. Harry insists that he’s fine. They form a safety net anyways.

But still, the one Harry really leans on is Louis. It’s always been Louis.

“You’re the best,” Louis is informed one day, a few weeks after Thomas rears his ugly head. They’ve been together for over a month and Harry won’t quit saying stuff like that. Louis also hasn’t quit enjoying it.

“Am I?” he pretends to be shocked. “Why, whatever for?”

“I dunno. Reasons. And stuff.”

“Not my dashing good looks, then?”

“I mean, I guess you’re alright.”

“My rapier wit?”

“I wouldn’t say rapier, but.”

“My awe-inspiring intellect, then, surely.”

“We could go with that if it makes you feel better.” Harry leans forward, bright-eyed, to give Louis a peck on the lips. “You know, you’re pretty when you pout.” He kisses Louis again, longer this time, just for good measure.

When he tries to pull back, Louis moves with him and makes a small noise of protest. “Come back here, I’m not done with you,” he insists, and Harry complies. Of course he complies- he always loves kissing Louis, no matter the time or the mood he’s in. The thought makes Louis smile into the kiss. “You know, you’re hot when you try to be an asshole but fail miserably,” he teases right back.

For long minutes, they just enjoy the feel of each other’s kisses. Somewhere along the line of growing up and having adventures, Louis had forgotten how nice it was just to have soft lips on his own, slotting together and sucking and biting in an unassuming way. With Harry, though, he remembered. He let himself focus on the sensations caused by Harry’s mouth and just get lost in it.

It wasn’t long, though, before Louis’ cheeks were flushed and his heart racing. “Hey Harry?” he murmurs.

“Mmm?” Harry barely breaks the kiss to reply.

“Do you, um, want to move to the bed?”

Louis expected it to be a monumental question, because it certainly felt momentous to him. But Harry only seemed bothered insofar as he had to pause his assault on Louis’ mouth long enough to reply, “Okay.”

It’s too easy. “Seriously, Harry,” Louis insists, tugging a lock of Harry’s hair to get his attention. Apparently Harry’s into that, because he just starts kissing Louis harder. Louis tries again. “Do _you want_ to go to the bed? Give me truths.”

“Yes, Louis, I do. Truth. I promise,” Harry sighs, a little exasperated, and starts inching off the couch, tugging Louis along and never halting the flow of kisses. When they reach the bed, it is with the gentlest of hands that he guides Louis to lie back on the mattress. Just as gently, Harry moves to hover over him, hands on either side of Louis’ head and knees on either side of his hips.

Louis couldn’t help but take hold of Harry’s belt loops and gently tug his body down- he wanted to feel the weight of this gangly, clumsy boy laid out against him, torso to torso and shoulder to shoulder. For once, Harry was resistant, his hips staying firmly in place and too far away from Louis, who murmured a quiet, “You can touch me, you know.” He pretended his voice wasn’t a little shaky when the words came out.

Instead of coming forward, though, Harry pulled back and nodded. “Right, right, sorry,” he mumbled, and rocked back until he was sitting atop Louis’ thighs. His hands were immediately at the top of Louis’ jeans, making quick work of the button and zipper before Louis had the presence of mind to grab Harry’s wrist and stop him.

There was nothing but innocence and surprise in Harry’s face when he glanced up at Louis. “Did- did I do something wrong?”

“N-no,” Louis began unsteadily, “it’s just- that’s not what I meant. I wasn’t, um, I wasn’t asking for that or anything, I was just saying that you could be close to me, like physically. I know Thomas didn’t let you, so I was just, um, reminding you. That you could. With me.” He wondered vaguely in some small, unexcited corner of his brain why he was suddenly unable to do the words putting together and coming out good thing.

You could see the gears turning in Harry’s head. “Oh,” he said after a pause. “You want me touch you. Not like _touch_ you, but touch you.”

“Yeah,” Louis replied, because that did, somehow, make sense. “Exactly. Yeah.”

“Are you going to, um, take your shirt off?” Harry was blushing so hard he could barely get the inquiry out, and even with all of his long body perched on Louis’ lap, he managed to look small.

Louis tried to hide his surprise. “If you want me to, yeah, of course.” A hesitant nod was the only reply, and Louis rushed to oblige. _Did Harry just ask for something?_ He grinned as he wriggled the shirt over his head because _Harry was asking for things._ It was heady and a little thrilling to know.

But the true enchantment was in the way that Harry was reaching out and letting his fingertips explore Louis’ stomach and chest, running over happy trails and v-lines and the faint outline of abs hiding behind the tummy he had from too many nights drinking. He slid his hands up Louis’ sides, slowly, memorizing, and Louis trembled at the feather-light touch. Harry placed large hands on Louis’ slender shoulders, then ran them down from bicep to wrist until their hands were linked and they were finally torso to torso.

They both exhaled, Louis shakily and Harry in relief, and as they melted they seemed to mould together perfectly. Actually, it was most like Louis was the mould and Harry was the water flowing through the lines of him and shaping quietly and gently to the form of Louis. He was all softness and exhale…

...except in the place where Louis could feel, through his jeans and Harry’s, what had to have been an uncomfortable hardness for Harry. When he could think around Harry’s kisses, which had started up again, he marveled at how self-controlled Harry was, how he managed not to rut against Louis at all, or even squirm. But that was Harry all over. Good, always and unfailingly.

Louis pulled his wrists free and sat up, wrapping one arm around Harry’s middle so he could push him gently sideways and roll them over so that now it was Louis hovering over Harry. “You’re hard,” he said simply, his voice low and a little rougher than normal.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean- sorry,” Harry frets, pulling back to look up at Louis’ face.

“Harry,” Louis chided, “I’ve told you before, it’s perfectly fine. Your body is reacting the way that it’s meant to. Actually, if you had a hot, shirtless boy leaning over you and you _weren’t_ hard, then I’d be concerned,” he added teasingly with another kiss.

The words seemed to get through, because Harry smiled and returned to laying kisses on Louis’ mouth. Then, when Louis didn’t protest, he began to leave neat little kisses on all of the lines and curves of Louis’ delicate throat.

Meanwhile, Louis could feel his whole body responding. He was getting hard, too, grateful at least that Harry had unzipped his jeans. His hands, pressed into the mattress, were shaky. Even still, his mind was churning out a thousand Harry-centric thoughts a minute. _Where’s the line? What does he want? Is this okay? What does he want? Would he tell me if this wasn’t okay? Does he even know what he wants?_

But if there was one thing in the world Louis was good at, it was reading people. And he could read clearly in every line of Harry’s body that he wanted- that he _needed-_ Louis.

Louis shifted his weight back to his knees so that he could run his hands over Harry’s chest, mirroring what the other boy had done to him just moments before. He could feel Harry’s heart racing through his shirt. It seemed to get impossibly faster the longer Louis was touching him.

Slowly, carefully, Louis let his hands slide lower. It was still an echo of Harry’s actions, down to the way that the motion was stopped with a quiet, “Wait. Sorry, wait.”

Louis pulled his hands back immediately, leaning back so that he could analyze every flutter of Harry’s eyelashes. “Of course, babe. What’s the matter? Talk to me.”

Harry’s mouth kept opening and closing, like he was searching for words he couldn’t pronounce. “I’m just- nervous. That makes me nervous. Is that okay?”

It melts Louis’ still-pounding heart to hear. “Absolutely. You’re allowed to be nervous. You’re allowed to feel whatever you want. And- and thank you for telling me. I’m glad you’re being honest, because you’re my priority here, got it?”

“Okay. Um, I got it,” Harry says shyly.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know if I was supposed to be nervous. But. You can, like, keep going.”

He has excitement in those pretty green eyes, and so Louis didn’t waste more words, choosing instead to soothe him with his mouth, now biting featherlight kisses on Harry’s throat, and his hands. For long minutes, Louis kept his palms safely on the fabric of Harry’s shirt, making calming circles on his stomach until some of the tension left his body.

Finally, Louis let those same, calming hands drift downwards. They shook surprisingly little as he unfastened Harry’s belt, then pushed the button of his jeans through the hole and gently tugged down the zipper. Harry gave a slow exhale of relief at the newfound freedom, breath tantalizing on Louis’ ear-

“Wait, wait,” Harry said again, turning from bliss to worry in an instant.

And again, Louis’ hands were instantly from him. “You okay? Nervous again?” he asked kindly.

“N-not exactly,” Harry mumbled, face red.

“Okay, that’s fine,” Louis assured him. “Just talk to me. Whatever it is, it’s fine. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable, no matter what.”

Harry took a second to absorb that, appearing to Louis to think very hard about whatever it was he needed to say. Both of their hearts had slowed a little by the time Harry managed, “It’s just- shouldn’t _I_ be doing this for _you?”_

Louis smiled fondly down at Harry, giving him one gentle peck on the lips. “There aren’t any ‘shoulds’ here, Harry. There aren’t rules. But if you’re trying to say that you feel like you need to get me off first, that’s not true, okay? You don’t owe me anything.”

“O-okay. Okay. I do want you to. If you’re sure.” There was still hesitation on Harry’s face, but when Louis kissed him, he kissed back no less eagerly. Gentle hands returned to Harry’s stomach, then to the waistband of his jeans, tugging downward to guide them down hips and around his thighs-

“I’m sorry, I just can’t,” Harry blurted, locking Louis’ wrists in the manacles of his hands. Now there was anxiety written all over his face, and a plea for Louis to understand. “You can’t.”

“I won’t,” Louis assured him. “Of course I won’t. Not unless you’re completely sure you want it.”

“You _shouldn’t.”_

“I- what?” stuttered Louis, frozen for a second by the words. “Harry? What do you mean I ‘shouldn’t?’”

Harry’s distressed and Louis can tell. “It’s dirty, Lou. You shouldn’t.”

It’s still not clicking in Louis’ brain. “You mean you might make a mess? It’s fine, Harry, seriously. I can wash the sheets and stuff, that’s not even an issue, I promise-”

“No, _Lou,”_ Harry cuts him off, more distressed than ever. “I mean that it’s _dirty._ It’s disgusting and it’s wrong and- and you don’t have to do something disgusting for me, okay? It’s okay. You don’t have to. You shouldn’t.”

“Oh,” Louis says numbly. _“Oh,”_ he repeats as soon as there’s air in his lungs, climbing off of Harry to sit next to him on the bed. “Shit.”

“Please don’t be mad at me for not stopping you sooner,” Harry begged. “I’m sorry, I- I was being selfish, because it felt good for you to touch me and I wanted it, but I can’t let you do that. You don’t… you don’t have to do that.” By the time he finished, Harry’s voice was very small, his head hung like he was afraid to see the anger on Louis’ face.

Had he looked up, he would have seen that there was of course no hint of anger on that face, only heartbreak. There was a hurricane of words in Louis’ head, words like _disgusting_ and _dirty_ and _wrong_ and _selfish._ It was a slow storm of every broken word Harry so genuinely believed.

Louis sucked in another lungful of oxygen, then reached out to grab Harry’s hand. “Harry, I’m not mad. Not at all. I promise, okay? Not for stopping me, or not stopping me, or- not for anything, okay?”

“Will you kiss me, then?” _Implied: So I can be sure you aren’t mad at me?_

Just one kiss, so that Louis can give Harry the answer he needs, and then he pulls back. “We need to talk about this, though.”

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Not about that. That was fine, for you to stop me, because you were uncomfortable. You’re always supposed to speak up when you’re uncomfortable. I asked for that and I meant it.”

“Oh. Then... what do you want to talk to me about?”

“About what you said.”

Bless him, Harry doesn’t even seem to comprehend a single thing wrong with any of it. “I don’t- what did I say wrong?”

 _Everything that came out of your mouth was wrong._ “I just want to talk about some of the ideas you have about this, okay? You’re not in trouble or anything. I just want to make sure I know where your head is at.”

Harry nods, by now used to the little therapy mini-sessions that Louis seemed to be constantly delivering. The only difference was that this time, as opposed to the dozens of others, Louis’ pants were gaping open, Harry’s were around his knees, and both of them had fading hard-ons.

Louis tried very hard to ignore all of that, putting on his kindest and most professional face. “You mentioned that you thought that me getting you off was disgusting and wrong. Is that just me doing it for you, or is it the act itself?”

“It’s everyone. Like, it doesn’t matter who’s doing it, it’s still wrong.”

“What about it is wrong?”

Harry has to think very carefully. “I don’t… I don’t know. It just is. It feels wrong.”

“Okay, so it feels wrong to you,” Louis nods, a subtle validation. “Does it just feel wrong to be receiving it, or does it feel wrong to give it, too?”

“I think… it doesn’t feel wrong when I’m giving, I think. I mean, I _know_ it’s wrong, but it doesn’t _feel_ wrong. Does that make sense? I like it, even though I shouldn’t.”

 _There’s that word again._ “You say you ‘shouldn’t.’ We’ll come back to that in a second- but what about receiving it? Does that feel wrong?”

Harry looks away, picking at a thread on Louis’ duvet while he thought. “It’s not that it feels bad to be getting off, like I’m excited and everything. But. It feels wrong that you’re the one doing it.”

“Oh.” Louis struggles to hold onto some shred of professionalism, but it’s hard when he’s on his bed with his half-naked boyfriend and he’s just been told that it feels wrong for Louis to be touching him. “What about me feels wrong?” he says, trying not to sound too strangled.

“No, no, no,” Harry rushes to correct. “It’s not that _you_ feel wrong. You’re good. You’re the best.” He squeezes Louis’ hand, which he’s yet to let go of, and that makes Louis feel infinitely better. “It’s just that it feels wrong for you to be doing _this._ Because this is wrong, and I don’t want you to do a wrong thing for me. Does that make sense?” he tacks on, a little desperately.

“You see getting someone off as wrong, but you enjoy it anyways. And you don’t want me to do it for you because you know it’s wrong in your head, even if you feel like you want it. Is that accurate?” paraphrased Louis.

Harry sighed, relieved, and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly.”

“Okay. But you don’t know why you think that’s the case?”

“N-no. Not really.”

“That’s fine. When did you start thinking that, can you remember?”

“With Thomas.”

They’re the words that Louis dreaded and expected in equal parts. Where else could a poison like that come from? Who else could take such an innocent mind and distort it like this?

Inside, Louis boiled. Outside, though, he just kept nodding. “Okay, and did it feel wrong to you when it was him trying to get you off?”

“He didn’t.”

“He didn’t feel wrong about it?”

“No, I mean he didn’t ever try to get me off.”

Professionalism be damned, Louis’ mouth dropped open. “Never? In eight months?”

“N-no,” Harry fretted. “Sorry,” he tacked on for good measure.

“Nothing to be sorry for, babe. But- you got him off, though, right? Because you said it didn’t feel wrong to you when you were giving. So you must have given before. And since Thomas was your first boyfriend…”

He was already nodding. “Yeah. He would let me suck him off, but he wouldn’t for me. Because it was dirty.”

 _‘He would let me.’_ Another phrase that made Louis feel dangerous inside. “But it wasn’t dirty for him to be on the receiving end?”

“No way,” Harry said immediately, like it was obvious. “It was my fault for wanting to do that to him. I’m a slut. A dirty cocksucker.”

And it hurts so much worse because Louis can almost hear Thomas’ voice saying those words, like there’s a double entendre in Harry’s voice. Like Thomas is still inside of him, pushing words out of his mouth and planting wrong thoughts in his head. The idea of it- that after all Thomas had already done he was _still_ haunting Harry- drove Louis from the bed until he was standing, trembling fists clenched in his hair, facing away from the broken boy on his pillows.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispers for maybe the millionth time. “I’m sorry that I was dirty. That I _am_ dirty.”

“You’re not, Harry, you’re not,” Louis says, voice cracking.

“Yes I am,” insists Harry, and Louis can hear tears in his voice. “Because I still want to do that to you. It’s wrong and it makes me a slut and you deserve better than that but I still want to do that to you. So I’m sorry I’m not better.”

And that’s when Louis loses his mind.

“But you’re sure you want this?” he said urgently, turning back around. “If you forget about everything he told you, if you forget about what’s right or wrong or everything like that, do you still want this?”

Harry bit his lip. “Y-yeah.”

 _“Give me truths,_ Harry.”

“Yes. God, yeah.”

It’s all that Louis needs to hear. He moves back to the bed, pushing Harry onto his back on the mattress and pressing their mouths together in kisses much hungrier, much needier than Louis had dared before. But then, Louis felt a little unlike himself.

He waited until Harry was panting and he was, too, before breaking the kiss to whisper lowly in Harry’s ear. “If me touching you makes me a cocksucking slut, then that’s what I am, okay? Because I want to. Fuck him, fuck everything he ever said to you.”

This time, when gentle hands roamed warm body, neither of them tried to stop it.  

“I want to get you off,” Louis said, very quietly and very deliberately when his fingers were raising goosebumps on Harry’s stomach. “But it still goes without saying that if you change your mind, or if you’re uncomfortable, you stop me, okay? I won’t ever be mad.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Absolutely, yes. I just want to make you feel good, that’s all I want.”

Now Harry is flushed half with the warmth of Louis’ hands and half with that of his words. “Thank you.”

Louis doesn’t respond. He’s quiet as he pushes Harry’s shirt up, using one hand to nudge his shoulders up off of the bed so that the shirt can come off over his head. A smile breaks out across Louis’ face as he looks down at Harry’s naked torso. “So you were serious, then, about the nipples.”

“Don’t tease me,” Harry pouts, but there’s a smile breaking through.

“Are we talking about the nipples still, or the fact that I’m taking my time?”

Harry laughed, the loud, limitless laugh that Louis loves, and it’s enough to make Louis cut it off with a kiss. He keeps smiling as he kisses, still vigilant for any change in Harry’s breathing or body that might indicate he’d changed his mind. It wasn’t like Louis would blame him if he pulled away. He couldn’t bring himself to hold it against Harry if he didn’t have anything to give.

But the only things Louis could feel were the little hitches in Harry’s breath every time Louis found a previously untouched piece of Harry to caress, and the solid thuds of a heart racing in anticipation, and the way that Harry was hard once more, pressing into Louis’ stomach in a yet undemanding way.

Louis pulled away from the kisses so that he could sit back and slide Harry’s jeans the rest of the way off. He didn’t mention how proud he was that they were so tight they practically needed to be peeled off. Thomas would never let Harry wear something like that.

But then, Harry wasn’t Thomas’ anymore.

It was written everywhere on Harry, in the way he lay so trusting before Louis, still a little nervous but willing to run to the moon and back if Louis asked. It was in the tremble of his fingertips. In the wide-blown pupils of his eyes.

Louis was still nervous too, so when he spent a few moments running his hands along Harry’s thighs, it was hard to tell whose benefit it was for. Louis kept sending out a silent _give me truths,_ and Harry kept responding with a resounding _yes, I want this, I want you._

Their locked gaze didn’t falter as Louis reached up and wrapped his fingers around the waistband of Harry’s boxers. He let Harry’s stomach flutter for a moment before pulling them down, slowly, steadily. Louis was in no rush. Harry was waiting to be rebuilt and Louis was a carpenter with chisel hands he would not let go astray.

Harry cleared his throat, quietly. “I- I might not be that good,” he mumbled, blushing. He kept talking before Louis could protest. “I’m not used to, erm, being touched. So. I might not last very long.”

Louis almost smiles, because at least _this_ is just your average, everyday teenage boy worry. This he can handle. But he doesn’t smile, because the worry in Harry’s eyes about disappointing Louis is very real. “Don’t worry about it, Haz, it’s alright. It’s not a pop quiz on your stamina. Don’t be ashamed of your body, it’s perfect, alright? And I’d know, mine’s pretty bangin’ as well.” He finished with a wink just to see if he could make Harry smile.

(Harry smiled.)

Now that Harry was equal parts pliant and bared before him, Louis turned his attention to where both he and Harry were so ready for attention to be lavished. He lay on his stomach between Harry’s legs, one hand on each of Harry’s hips. The skin was smooth beneath his lips as he kissed his way down one hipbone, then the other, before finally moving one hand to take Harry’s cock.

Harry exhaled, loud and slow, eyes fluttering closed even at this tiniest of touches. Louis tried not to think about the way that everything he was doing was Harry’s first. He just blinked away the haze in his mind and told himself to focus on making it Harry’s _best._

And if the noises Harry made every time Louis’ hands or mouth moved on him in a new way were any indication, this was plenty good enough for him. Louis was still unhurried, spending as much time and attention on Harry’s body as he pleased, drawing time out into minutes that felt like hours with every touch.

“I’m just going to touch your cock, okay?” he asked Harry at one point. “Everything else we can save for some other time. If you want that. But not tonight. Is that okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Harry gasped, desperate for more touch but still not daring to buck up into Louis’ hand.

His face was too flushed to convince Louis he knew what he was agreeing to. “Harry, give me tr-”

_“Yes, Louis, okay, fuck!”_

Louis laughed a little at the crack in Harry’s voice, then busied his mouth wrapping around Harry’s cock. He bobbed up and down, one hand working the inches of length beneath where his lips closed and the other tracing patterns inside Harry’s thigh. He could feel powerful leg muscles trembling, hear breath go unsteady.

One look at Harry’s face and Louis knew it would be soon. His head was thrown back, cheeks flushed and eyes closed, mouth hanging open to form half-breathed utterances of Louis’ name and swear words and pleas to deities. His hands were tangled in the sheets, holding on for dear life. He was a vision, one that Louis secretly memorized to hold in his mind forever in case he ever forgot what heaven meant.

Louis pulled his mouth off of Harry with a little pop and moved his hand to form a tight ring around the base of Harry’s cock. He couldn’t have him cumming just yet, not before he had the chance to ask, “Where do you want to cum, Harry?”

“I don’t care, Louis, please, truth, I promise,” he begged, chest heaving. “Please.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Louis soothed, his other hand moving to splay on Harry’s stomach. Comforting, calming. “But I want you to think and try to choose for me, baby. What do you want?”

“I don’t _know,_ Louis?”

“On me or on you?”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open and he stared at the ceiling for a second, trying hard to think past the way his entire body felt like it was on the precipice of life itself. “I- I think you? I think.”

“Good, that’s very good. Where on me, Harry? Tell me, baby, so I can make you cum.”

“Just- not in your throat, please,” Harry said as his eyes slid shut once more. “Please don’t make me cum in your throat.”

Louis just pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock with a quiet, “It’s all about you, Harry, it’s whatever you want.”

And with only a few more pumps, Harry was cumming, warm bursts that landed on Louis’ cheekbones, his eyelashes, the open ‘o’ of his mouth. Louis’ name was ripped from Harry’s mouth, or maybe somewhere deep in his chest, as his body tipped over that precipice and fell or maybe exploded or maybe defied every law of physics ever written.

When he can think again about more than just the heavens or the boy between his legs, Harry notices that Louis is still there, eyes closed and face smeared with cum, pressing kisses to his thighs and waiting for him to come back down to earth. He reaches forward, takes his thumbs and swipes them across the lid of each eye so that Louis can look up at him, his own pupils wide and eyes a darker blue than Harry’s ever seen.

“Good?” Louis asks with a small smile.

He doesn’t bother to respond, because Louis smart enough to know the answer to that. “Can I kiss you?” is all he asks.

Louis crawls up his body and presses his lips to Harry’s, wondering whether it’s his pulse or that of the boy beneath him that he can feel wherever their skin meets. Maybe both.

“I’ll be right back,” promises Louis quietly after a moment, climbing off of Harry to retreat to the bathroom. When he returns, it’s with a warm washcloth that he uses to clean up his own face and Harry’s, where their kiss has left the pale boy smudged with his own cum. The fabric is gentle on his cheek, and Harry turns his face so he can kiss the inside of Louis’ wrist.

“You’re incredible,” Harry mutters, and he means it.

The compliment makes Louis blush, but he doesn’t take it. “It was a blow job, Harry, not a check for a million pounds,” he mumbles. “Anyone could have done that for you.”

“Yeah, but no one ever has,” Harry says sweetly. He sits up next to Louis, still a little shaky, and pulls his head in for a kiss. “I can’t wait to do the same for you.”

Harry isn’t hyperaware like Louis is, but he’s tuned in enough to Louis’ body that it only takes a couple of seconds to notice that Louis’ gone still and silent. He pulls back to look at him, confused. “Lou? What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

Louis is wide-eyed and a little panicked-looking. “When you say you ‘can’t wait,’ is that in like a ‘hypothetical future date’ sense, or a ‘right now’ sense?

The answer sounds more like a question. “Uhm, right now?”

There is hesitation all over Louis’ face that Harry doesn’t understand. He wracks his brains trying to think of why. “Was it- did I- you don’t want me to? I mean, I know that I’m a virgin and all but I wouldn’t do it badly or anything. I’ve given blowjobs and all so I would make it feel good for you-”

“Jesus, Harry, it’s not that. I wasn’t- it’s not that I think you wouldn’t do a fantastic job, it’s just-” Louis can’t quite put it into words. He looks down at the washcloth still clutched in his hand. “Would it help if I told you that it’s not you, it’s me?”

“Louis,” Harry replies so sternly that Louis looks right up at him. “Why don’t you want me to get you off? Give me truths.”

Everything is abruptly turned on its end, and the realization makes Louis laugh exactly how Harry wanted him to. “Okay, Dr. Styles, you’ve got me. I’ll confess.”

“Just remember that all of your emotions are valid simply because you feel them,” Harry says in his very best imitation of Louis.

It earns him a kiss. And even though Harry was mostly kidding, the words do help Louis remember that everything he’s learned works the other way around, too. _My thoughts and experiences are valid. I am allowed to feel what I feel._

“I feel… weird. About letting you suck me off,” Louis began. “You’ve basically just told me that your last boyfriend, who you’ve really only just broken up with, used you for sex and told you that you were disgusting for doing it. I don’t… I want it to be different with me.”

“It is,” Harry replied immediately. “Lou, it’s so, so different. Like, nothing is the same. You care about me and you build me up and stuff. He never did that. It’s so different.”

“Yeah, but what if  it stops feeling that way, when you’re back in the same position you always were with him?” Louis asks, just above a whisper.

There’s a little wrinkle that appears on Harry’s forehead as he furrows his brow. “Maybe I will. But isn’t that kind of my decision about whether I want to take that risk?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Jesus. Is this what it’s like to talk to me?”

“Pretty much,” Harry grins. “And speaking of things you say, when it was _me_ who was worried about someone feeling like a cocksucking slut, you just helped me work through it and sucked me off anyways.” He loops an arm around Louis’ middle and pulls him close enough that he can kiss his cheek, while still giving Louis space enough to move away if he wanted.

“Psychologically speaking that was actually a shit tactic,” Louis confessed, “So I really shouldn’t have done it. And- I didn’t pressure you or anything, did I? I was trying to make a point that I didn’t care about his opinion, but I definitely didn’t mean to push you-”

“No, not at all. You talked to me until I felt better. I wanted it, I promise.” After a few slow blinks, he nods quietly and gives Louis another chaste kiss on the cheek. “Okay,” he said simply.

“What?”

“Okay. I’m not going to push you or anything, ‘cause I care about you and I want you to be comfortable. Just like you would never push me, right?”

“Of course not, never.”

“Then okay. This is me not pushing you.” Harry smiled, looking surprisingly innocent for someone who’d been wrecked not five minutes before. “Although,” he tacked on, “if we’re being honest-”

“Which we always are.”

“-I really don’t like the fact that you never got to finish. Are you going to be okay, without-? You can’t tell me you’re not hard, Louis, I know you are.”

He looks so genuinely concerned that Louis couldn’t even dream of trying to dodge his question. “Well. Yeah. Do you have any idea how hot you look when you’re cumming all over me?”

“I wasn’t really thinking about my appearance at the moment, no?”

“Well, take my word for it. You look fucking hot. So yeah, I’m still hard.”

“Right. Well, you can…” Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I mean, if you wanted to, um, take care of it, I wouldn’t be mad.”

Louis is confused. “Mad? Why would you be mad?”

There’s a visible wince before Harry answers. “Thomas was. He would never let me finish when I was around him. So if I got hard while I was sucking him off, he would just make me wait until it went away. I wasn’t allowed to do anything about it.”

Louis thinks for a moment of how eager Harry is, how quick to get excited, and frowns on his behalf. “I’m so sorry, babe. That must have been awful for you.”

“It ...didn’t feel good,” Harry confirms. “I think it might have been mean of him. I think.”

“It definitely was.”

“Right. Well. I’m not like that. So you can like, do whatever you want. If you don’t want me to do anything but you want to take care of it.”

“Would you like that?” Louis asked lowly after a moment, an idea dawning.

Harry’s eyes open wide. “Would I- what?”

“Would you like that?” Louis repeated, staring right at Harry. “Would you like for me to touch myself?”

The way that Harry’s face gets flushed and his eyes stay wide is answer enough for Louis. He scoots higher up on the bed and lays on his back, head nestled on a pillow, then pats the space beside him. “Come sit next to me, babe.”

Harry hurried to comply, his eyes not leaving Louis for an instant. Louis met his gaze steadily, lifting up his hips and pushing his jeans down his thighs, finally kicking the trousers off as gracefully as he could with his cock getting harder the longer Harry looked at him like that.

The boxers he left on, only pushing them down far enough that most of his hard-on was showing. His eyes finally drifted shut as the cool of his hands met the hot flesh down below, and even if he’d meant to take it slow at some point, he was already pumping. He couldn’t tease himself. Not when everything was already this heady.

He didn’t try to control himself as his hips instinctively left the mattress in search of friction. The hand that wasn’t working his cock reached out towards Harry, lacing fingers together until they were clasped tightly as one. Louis thumbed the head of his cock, drawing a little whine from himself, and bit his lip in an effort to keep the expletives in.

It was the same hand that had always been there, since puberty, that had made these same simple motions countless times. But this time was so much _better,_ because Harry was there, and when Louis opened his eyes all he could see was Harry staring down at him in wonderment, all wild eyes and red lips and _Jesus christ there was cum on his jawline._

Louis came, hard, shooting droplets of cum all across his chest and up towards his collarbones. A moan erupted as he arched a little off the bed, one hand steadily pumping while the other gripped Harry’s hard enough that it must have hurt. It was a long moment before he could catch his breath again, to stop grunting exhales long enough to fill his lungs up with air to vanish the spots from his eyes.

Harry was there to take the breath away again almost immediately, stealing kisses from Louis’ still-slack mouth. “You’re incredible,” he tells Louis for the second time that night.

“You’re going to have to find some new compliments. Or not.” In all honesty, Louis’ still a little too high to care. “Where- where’s the washcloth?”

“Actually,” Harry hesitates, “can… can I? Um. I’ve always wanted to…” He licks his lips a little, nervously, looking back and forth between Louis’ face and the cum splattering his chest.

Louis blinks at him in surprise. “Oh- yeah. Jesus, of course. Yeah. If you want.”

Harry leaned forward and starts licking the mess off of Louis’ still-hot skin, working his way from stomach to collarbones before kissing Louis’ mouth again. He tasted bitter, but in a way that Louis really, really could not mind. “Incredible,” he repeats firmly, tugging Louis’ boxers back up for him.

They lay there for approximately a decade or three, just breathing. No words. No thoughts, even. Just Harry tuck under Louis’ arm and Louis wrapped around Harry’s warm body and the two of them inhaling and exhaling and being.

“How do you feel?” Louis finds the desire to ask at some point.

“Are you asking as my boyfriend, or as a therapist?”

“As your boyfriend, the therapist.”

Harry giggles a little, quietly. “I’m feeling super.”

“Is that emotionally super or blissed out super?”

“Emotional and blissed out super.” He cranes his head back so he can look up at Louis properly. “Were you worried I wouldn’t feel good?”

“What? Me, worried about your physical and emotional well-being? I _never…”_

Harry laughs and pokes Louis in the middle, right at that little ring of pudge that he insists is cute no matter how firmly Louis protests. “You _were_ worried about me. Weren’t you?”

It’s hard to deflect a serious question, so Louis has to answer honestly. “Well considering that you just told me that your boyfriend played head games with you about sex and then we, erm, were intimate for the first time… yeah, a bit.”

“Oh. What were you worried about, exactly?”

“Are you _sure_ you want to talk about this now?” Louis sighed. “Because I can fuck up pretty much any nice moment with a DTR. It’s an unfortunate talent. So we don’t have to do this now-”

“Shut up,” hushes Harry mildly. “I’m asking because I want to know.”

“Your wish is my command,” Louis smirks, planting a kiss on top of Harry’s head. “Okay. I was worried that I’d do something that would upset you. Trigger you, like.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“Like when you said you didn’t want to cum down my throat,” answers Louis, and dear god he’s blushing.

Harry frowns to himself. “It’s okay that I don’t like that though, right?”

“Of course,” Louis rushes to assure him. “It’s just- well the way you said it, you made it sound like it wasn’t just something you didn’t prefer, that it was… I dunno, like a punishment or something.”

Apparently this hits the nail on the head. “That was what Thomas always did,” he confesses quietly. “He was really rough and I didn’t like it, but he didn’t let me choose. So I didn’t want to do that because I don’t want to hurt you or anything.”

It’s funny how they can be talking about sex and yet Harry can still say cute, innocent things like that to make Louis’ heart melt. He tables the discussion of his pain kink for the moment in favor of understanding the unsure boy in his arms. “What about what you said to me that night at the bar?” he asks calmly, running a gently hand up and down Harry’s back. “You specifically asked for me to do that to you. It’s okay if you didn’t mean it, I’m just- curious, I guess.”

“Well I- I guess I figured it might be better with you. Because even when I’m completely plastered I know that you would make it good for me. That you’d- that you’d be gentle and make me feel good.” By the time he’s finished the sentence, Harry has his face buried in the crook of Louis’ neck and the skin of his throat is flushed red in embarrassment.

There may or may not be a lump in Louis’ throat, and if there is it’s only because of the fucking endorphins. He just pulls Harry in closer to his chest. “Well you’re right. Whatever you want, however you’d want it, I’d make sure you felt good. Number one concern.”

“Well, what you want matters too.”

“But that’s not my number one concern.”

“Well it’s mine,” Harry huffs stubbornly, then wiggles around in Louis arms so he’s mostly just laying on top of Louis with his chin on the older boy’s chest. There’s nowhere to hide from those curious green eyes when he asks, “So how _do_ you like it, Louis? What makes you feel good?”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early to discuss kinks?” Louis says with his eyes locked on the ceiling, pretending like his whole face isn’t hot.

“Not now that I see you blushing like that,” Harry says delightedly. “You never get embarrassed. You’re the king of sharing secrets, but I mention what you like in bed and you get all shy!”

“Well I’m not trying to scare you off, for fuck’s sake!”

“Oh, come on. I’m wrapped around your finger and you know it. It can’t be _that_ bad.”

Louis can’t meet Harry’s eyes, but he can’t deny him what he wants, either. “I like it a bit rough, okay?” he admits, just shy of a groan. “Some light BDSM-type stuff. Not like whips or anything too intense, I just- I kinda like the feel of being tied up, okay?”

There’s too long of a pause after that for Louis to do anything but assume he’s put Harry off in a major way. But then there’s a tickle of curls, a kiss to the center of his chest, and a quiet, cheerful, “Okay, noted.”

“That’s not too… weird for you?” Louis works up the nerve to look at Harry’s bright little face on his chest. “Even- considering?”

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of what you want or need,” Harry says firmly, but with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’re a fucking twat.”

“I’m literally quoting you word for word."

“I know. I’m a twat, too.” Harry laughs and Louis ruffles his slightly damp hair. “Seriously though, you don’t have to worry about that. If you’re not okay with that or whatever, it’s fine, I wasn’t even going to mention it.”

“Well I’m glad you did. But let’s go to bed for now- we’ll figure that stuff out later, okay?”

“So sensible,” Louis grumbles.

“That’s my middle name. You comfy?”

“Got you with me, haven’t I?”

“You’re right. You _are_ an obnoxious twat.”

“Goodnight to you, too, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell me that you can't stop fooling around to have a therapeutic discussion because trust me on this one. Date a therapist and you will know... we can fuck up _anything_ by going into counselor mode. Part of our charm!
> 
> Anyways, hope you liked stupid cheesy cliched first time smut with a healthy dose of angst and nervousness and feels. :)
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: very very close to zero bad stuff, so really just boys touching other boys' penises :) :) :) you're welcome

Once the doors have been opened, neither of them is shy about expressing their fondness in more physical ways. If he were an outsider to this situation, Louis might have cautioned to slow things down a bit- after all, they’d only been dating for like a month. But nothing felt rushed here, and nothing felt forced. It’s just that Harry was eager and enchanted, and Louis was passionate and perhaps a bit in love, and if they wanted to memorize each other’s bodies then god damn it they were going to.

It’s why it takes less than five hours for Harry to notice the bandage wrapped around Louis’ rib cage. He’s teasing Louis’ jersey up over his head with playful kisses, but when his fingertips meet an unexpected surface instead of warm, smooth skin, he pulls back in confusion.

“Is that- oh my god, are you okay?” Harry asks in concern. “Are you hurt? Did you-”

“It’s just another tattoo, Haz, don’t worry,” answers Louis with a laugh. “I forgot to tell you, I got it done the other night while you were in your night lecture.”

“You _forgot_ about new, permanent body art?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve sort of got a few already,” Louis teased.

Harry is far too curious to rise to the bait, though. “Can I see it?”

“I dunno… don’t you think that’s sort of an intimate place?”

The tease is ignored with a roll of Harry’s eyes. He pulls gently at the tape holding the square of gauze to Louis’ side, until bit by bit the new art is revealed.

“Flowers?” Harry asks, his tone surprised.

“Not your typical punk tattoo, I know.”

“No, I didn’t mean- I like it!”

“Me too,” Louis smiles. “It’s a bit more feminine than I usually get, but I think the symbolism of the flower is cool.”

“What is it?”

“Magnolia. It stands for beauty and sweetness and innocence.”

 _“You_ got something that means _innocence_ as a tattoo?”

Louis burst into laughter. “I dunno what you’re talking about, I’m perfectly chaste. But even if I wasn’t, it doesn’t have to symbolize _me,_ you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well like this one is for my mum, and this one is for my sis Fizz, then the one over here-” Louis starts twisting around to point to various spots on his skin so he can declare which loved one they each represent. “So there you have it,” he declares when he’s reasonably sure he’s explained them all.

“That’s really cute, how you symbolize people with your tattoos,” Harry says sweetly. “Who’s this one for, then?”

Louis’ mouth is suddenly a little drier than it was before. “Well just because I have some tattoos that represent people doesn’t mean they _all_ do,” he says a little breathily.

“You’re lying,” Harry says delightedly. “You didn’t answer me, you answered another question- that’s what you do when you’re trying to trick me into not asking something you don’t want to answer!”

“Well it’s no good if you know about it,” Louis mumbled.

“Come on, Louis- spill! Please?”

He’s too good at pouting, and Louis is too terrible at lying to people he cares about. He carefully folds the discarded gauze so he has time to think of what to say. “Well I was serious when I said that not every tattoo symbolizes someone,” he settled on at last. “And it would be weird, probably, to get a tattoo for a guy that you’ve only been dating for like a month.”

“But…?”

“I didn’t get it _for_ you, exactly. But. It is sort of Harry-inspired. As in when I think of innocence and sweetness and beauty I think of you. Unless that’s weird, in which case it’s completely meaningless and it’s just a fat flower at the end of the day.”

But Harry’s a ridiculous sap so of _course_ he doesn’t think it’s weird. He’s sitting there looking at Louis with tears in his eyes like he’s just heard news that Louis is carrying his unborn child, instead of a sort-of admission that there may or may not be a tattoo somewhat based off of him.

“Thank you for getting a tattoo that’s loosely related to me,” he says shyly, pressing a kiss to his fingertips and touching them to the largest bloom on Louis’ side.

“Anything for you,” answers Louis. The scary thing is, he actually means it.

…………………

If there was an end to the list of reasons why Harry was a perfect human being and boyfriend, Louis hadn’t found it yet. It was like he was tailor-made to fit him, filling in every little missing piece of Louis’ life. He struggled to follow recipe directions, while Harry was an amazing chef. He lacked the discipline to study for more than five minutes, while Harry was an incredible motivator.

Liam’s favorite way in which Harry was better than Louis was the fact that Harry was as tidy as Louis was a slob. He almost couldn’t help himself; whenever he got up to do something in the kitchen or go to the loo, Harry would absentmindedly tidy the dorm on his way there. Now there were very rarely any beer bottles on the counter or laundry under the kitchen table, which was preferable to everyone.

Harry was doing it now, holding the mugs he’s returning to the sink in one hand and rifling through the crap on the table with the other as he passed. “Can I throw this away?” He asked Louis, holding up a box of takeaway that had been left out for approximately 36 hours.

“Oh… yeah, that’s probably not safe to eat…”

“It smells dangerous,” Harry confirmed. More rifling, and then an empty gum container. “What about this?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s empty, yeah you can toss it.”

“And this?”

“Harry, you don’t have to ask me about every little thing,” Louis said with a laugh when Harry shows him an abandoned ball of cling-wrap. “You’re smarter than me, you know what’s rubbish and what’s not.”

A little shadow crosses Harry’s face and he ducks his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just didn’t want to throw anything important away on accident, that’s all.”

Louis can see him getting smaller from all the way over on the couch. “That wasn’t a criticism, babe,” he quickly but gently replies. “You can ask me if you want, that doesn’t bother me- I just meant that I trust you to decide on stuff because I think you’re smart.”

He brightens a little, but Harry still seems a little subdued. Louis doesn’t push it. This usually means that Harry’s remembering something that Thomas once told him, and the silence was his way of trying to reconcile old messages with new. He’d tell Louis when he was ready, or at least come back to him.

“Thomas threw my jeans away once,” Harry says suddenly, quietly, almost absentmindedly. “That’s how my phone got messed up- remember how I didn’t have a phone when I first met you? My phone was in the pocket of my jeans and he threw them away, and it got wet from something and wouldn’t turn on.”

The last two months have also taught Louis to pick his battles. Sometimes it was okay to prompt for details, sometimes it was better just to let it be. This seemed like one of the less horrifying memories, so Louis dares to ask, “Why was he throwing away your jeans?”

He miscalculated though, because Harry doesn’t look him in the eye to answer. “They were new jeans, really nice skinny ones. Thomas threw them away because they made me look like I was a little slut who was begging for cock.”

One thing that hasn’t changed for Louis is the familiar sensation of having the breath knocked out of him every time Harry says something so horrifying in that casual way of his. It’s like being kicked in the chest.

“You don’t think that though, right?” Harry follows up with a shy smile at Louis, because apparently he’s better at handling this shit than Louis now.

“Not a chance,” Louis quickly agrees. And then, because in his experience humor is almost always the answer, “Although it is hard to focus on much else when you wear jeans like that.”

Harry’s cheeks turned to dimples as he tried to hold back a grin. “They make my bum look good?”

“Well, to be fair, your bum always looks sinfully fantastic.”

That’s when a blush starts appearing on Harry’s face, turning his neck a delightful shade of pink. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Louis almost stops there. He almost leaves it at that, but Harry is coming over to the couch where he’s sitting and Louis can’t help but grab him by the pockets and pull him closer until he’s standing right in front of him. It makes him feel brave, to have Harry so close. “The amount of time I’ve spent thinking about your bum is shameful. Both before _and_ after we got together,” he confesses.

Harry bends his knees until he’s kneeling on either side of Louis’ thighs, his hands cradling Louis’ face. “What kinds of things do you think?”

The way his thumbs are caressing Louis’ cheekbones make it clear he doesn’t want to hear about how Louis thinks it’s a cute bum, or how the skinnier his jeans were the better it looked, or how the crease at the top of his thighs was nearly impossible to resist pinching. Those weren’t the thoughts that Harry was interested in. Louis knows he’s blushing because he can feel his heartbeat in every nerve ending of his face.

“I think about how I want to make love to you,” he says at last, because it sounds better than admitting that when Harry is on top of him like this, all Louis can think about is Harry writhing and panting beneath him.

He doesn’t even have time to worry about whether he should have bitten his tongue, because Harry’s got his mouth on Louis, kissing him like he’s trying to make all space between them disappear. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he murmured.

Louis’ hands were slipping up Harry’s shirt to feel the taut muscles of his back, though he couldn’t quite remember having made the decision to touch him. He doesn’t fight it though, even when his brain catches up to his fingertips, because Louis is a fast learner and already he knows that Harry isn’t as frail as he seems. He’s stronger every day. And if he says he wants it… who is Louis to tell him he’s wrong?

“Where’s this coming from?” he pants instead, between the ever-intensifying kisses Harry is showering on him. “Not that I’m complaining, but- _fuck.”_ The end of his sentence gets lost when Harry starts moving his hips on Louis’ lap. He can’t help it- Louis bucks up in search of friction and Harry shivers in response.

“Well I told you from the beginning that I wanted you inside of me,” he answered Louis, moving to hold onto the other man’s biceps. “But you’re always thinking so hard about what I _need_ that you forget what I _want.”_

“And you want this, right here, and-now?” Louis can’t help but ask, just once, just to be sure.

“Right now. Please.”

That’s all Louis needs to hear. He’s a fast learner, after all. He doesn’t waste any time pushing up off the couch and stumbling to the bedroom with Harry. He takes a second to make sure the bed he’s backing them towards is Harry’s- Zayn will appreciate the thought, he’s sure- then spins them around and eases Harry onto his back on top of the duvet.

“Ah, fuck,” Louis suddenly realizes, pulling back and shutting his eyes in disbelief. “Why couldn’t we have this conversation at my place? I’m not prepared, I don’t have _any_ of the stuff we need-“

“Your place has a roommate and no walls,” Harry points out with a flushed grin, “and you don’t give me enough credit. I told you I’ve been wanting this for a while. I stopped at the shop the other day, and I think I got everything we need.” He gropes for the bedside table and fishes out a box of condoms and a container of lube from the little drawer. “Are these okay? I wasn’t sure what size to get and I was embarrassed to ask-”

“They’ll be fine,” Louis replies smoothly, taking both items from Harry and tossing them on the bed next to them without a single glance. He’s got better things to do, like dismantle Harry’s outfit piece by piece until the beautiful man is naked on the bed before him.

“What do you want me to do, baby?” Louis whispers when his vision is realized and Harry is lying, flushed and vulnerable, before him.

Harry still has enough cheekiness to reply, “I want you to get your kit off.”

“Yes sir,” Louis replies with an eye roll, even as he obeys. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Harry’s confidence wavers for the first time, his smile slipping a little into an unsure half-frown. “I don’t- erm, I’m not really sure. I’ve never- I mean, this is my first time, so-”

“Don’t worry, love, it’s all right,” Louis instantly soothes, coming to kneel over Harry once more so he can kiss relaxation back into that face. ”I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. I’ll just- I’ll focus on making you feel amazing, and if you don’t like something or don’t want something, you tell me right away. Deal?”

He’s just about to get a nod of approval when the phrasing catches up to Harry. “This isn’t all about me, you know,” he informs Louis. “You can pick things that make you feel good, too.”

And poor, sweet, innocent Harry has never felt the full force of Louis’ charm before, has never experienced firsthand why people have called him a seductress without a hint of sarcasm. So he’s quaking and pliant by the time Louis is done leaning down and whispering, “You know what I dream about, Harry? Feeling your thighs tremble when they’re wrapped around me as you come so hard you see stars. So trust me, what’s amazing for you is _perfect_ for me.”

After that, Harry’s pretty much a goner.

Louis never stops praising Harry the entire time he’s touching him, an endless stream of words telling him how gorgeous he looks, or how pretty his sounds are, or how good and relaxed he’s being as Louis opens him up with one, then two, then three fingers. He bites back the questions that he’s dying to ask, quieting the chaos of his mind in order to just trust in the way that Harry sighs beneath him.

“How does that feel?” he lets himself ask when he’s slowly scissoring Harry open and the younger boy is pulling himself off lazily, his eyes locked on Louis.

“Okay,” comes the honest answer. “Weird, but okay.” He frowns down at Louis when the movement stops. “Hey. I said it was okay, you can keep going. It’s not like it feels _bad,_ just- I dunno, takes some getting used to, maybe?”

He should have predicted that ‘okay’ wasn’t good enough for Louis though. This was _his Harry_ that they were talking about here, how could ‘okay’ be even close to sufficient? Louis bit a gentle mark into Harry’s hip and changed tacks, curling his fingers inside Harry, searching, exploring-

“What are you- _oh!”_

Louis knows the instant he finds Harry’s sweet spot, because even before sound can make its way out of Harry’s mouth his hands are both coming to tangle in Louis’ hair so fast that Louis doesn’t have time to register before the frantic tugging begins. Harry’s breathing quickens, his heart rate doubles against Louis’ lips when he presses a kiss to the inside of Harry’s thigh.

“I was worried about overwhelming you,” Louis confessed in a whispering laugh, “but then, you deserve to be overwhelmed.”

It isn’t long before Harry’s moved from ‘this is okay’ to begging for more. “Please, Louis, can I please have you inside of me? Please-“

Louis moves as far up Harry’s torso as he can without interrupting the way he’s hitting Harry’s prostate over and over again. He winds up pressing kisses somewhere vaguely in the area of a couple of Harry’s nipples. “Are you sure? We can save that for another time, if you want. We can do this often as you want, baby, there’s no rush.”

“That’s really sweet,” Harry replied in a voice that was far too desperate to sound appreciative, “but right now what I want is you in me and fucking the exact spot your fingers are right now, _please!”_

The boy was truly irresistible when he forgot to mind his language, and Louis told him so as he straightened up. Harry whined at the loss of Louis’ fingers, but sat up a little to pull him off while Louis tore open a condom. He brushes Harry’s hand aside to put it on himself and help himself to some lube, slicking up with more than he probably needs. He isn’t taking any chances, not tonight.

Harry pulls Louis down between his legs and locks his ankles behind Louis with nervous, excited eyes. “This is what you wanted, right? This is how you want to feel me?”

It doesn’t make sense to do their usual back-and-forth of each insisting that the other say what he wanted until one or both demanded to be given truths. It wasn’t necessary all that often anymore. They _were_ each other’s truth.

“This might hurt,” Louis whispered honestly, “but I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to be gentle and I’m going to make you feel good, baby.”

And Louis Tomlinson was nothing if not an honest man. He pushed in slowly, feeling like a live wire as he took in all of the cues Harry’s body was giving him. “Breathe,” he instructed gently when he could feel that Harry wasn’t. Every muscle in that lanky body was taut.

“Stretches,” Harry grunted, eyes watering. “Feels really- it feels weird. S-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Relax, sweetheart,” murmured Louis, his fingertips running gently up and down Harry’s side while he pressed tiny kisses into his collarbones. “I know it feels weird at first, but you have to relax. Keep breathing. The more relaxed you are, the better it’ll feel for you, okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry-”

“Shh, don’t be sorry. Just breathe through it. Take your time.”

Slowly but surely, Harry relaxes, thanks to Louis’ murmured praises and his gentle touches. When most of the tension in his body had given way to peace, he nodded ever so slightly to Louis. “Okay.”

When Louis starts to move again, he learns to listen to Harry’s body like it’s a song, to mark every note in the symphony of how their bodies feel when they work together like this, first slow and then faster as Louis searches for the angle to make his lover fall apart. He hears how Harry sings when Louis finds it, how the chorus is Louis’ name and the harmony is any word he can think of because Harry is coming undone and Louis, Louis is there to hear it all.

“Louis,” Harry gasps, clearly having disobeyed his instructions to breathe. “I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.”

“Okay, baby, go ahead. Come whenever you want.” Louis sucked on Harry’s lip almost lazily, like he isn’t buzzing with anticipation.

“Are you close to-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Louis interrupts.

He’s already picking up the pace and snapping his hips into Harry’s faster than before. Harry responds, hands scrabbling at Louis’ back and his mouth struggling to form a word that might be ‘harder.’ The sight makes Louis’ stomach flutter, and even though what matters most is Harry, he can feel that he’s almost at the edge, too.

He drops from his hands to his elbows so that their torsos are pressed together, and that’s the end of it. The friction on Harry’s cock, caught between them, makes him gasp, moan once, and go careening over the edge.

Louis could write poetry about a moment like this, but it’s probably just better to say that it feels _really fucking good_ when Harry’s body tenses up around him and arcs as he cums all over the both of them.

What seals it for Louis, though, is the way that Harry’s nails are digging into his back, scratching long marks in the smooth skin there. It’s so primal, so uncontrollable, so _stinging_ and Louis’ cumming right there inside of Harry, without asking what was preferred, without really giving a fuck, for once. Instinct takes over as he fucks himself through his orgasm, trembles on his elbows for the space of three breaths, and collapses right there on Harry’s chest.

They’re both a little too stunned to speak. Harry lifts one heavy arm to lay across Louis’ shoulders in a sort-of embrace and Louis gives a hum of acknowledgement, and that says enough for the moment. A couple of minutes pass while they both recover.

Finally, Louis pulls out of Harry, making them both grimace, and flops on his back on the bed next to Harry. His hand pats Harry’s thigh, since that’s what it landed on and he’s a little too tired to move it. “Good?” he simply asks, turning his head to look over at Harry with a grin.

Harry grins back. “Are you going to tease me if I use the word ‘incredible?’”

“Maybe. Well… probably not. Considering that it _was_ incredible. But. No guarantees.”

“In that case, it was supercalifragilis…” He trails off. “That’s a lot of work to say. I’m very tired. And… sticky. I’m also pretty sticky.”

“Dorky, too. But thanks, I think, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Mmm. No, don’t get up,” Louis quickly reprimands when Harry shifts beside him.

“I was gonna go clean up, I hate feeling sticky-”

“I know. Let me though, you’re probably sore.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

Harry giggled. “You should have said ‘you’re welcome’ instead.”

Louis laughed, too. A few moments passed in which he didn’t move. “I’m going to get up and get a washcloth,” he promised eventually.

“Okay, I believe you.”

“As soon as I have energy to walk.”

“Right, of course.”

“Just another minute.”

“Should we text Zayn and see when he’ll be home? Maybe it’ll be soon, and he can just grab one for us.”

Louis was 99 percent sure that was a joke, but the thought of Zayn coming home to find them both lying naked in bed and completely fucked out was enough to drive him to sit, stand, and even stumble to the bathroom. When he returns, he gingerly cleans both of them, pulls the duvet out from under Harry, and crawls into the space by Harry’s side with the duvet over both of them with a contented sigh.

“This okay?” he asks Harry with a kiss to his chest. His skin tastes like salt.

“I like being naked. I like cuddling. I like naked cuddling.”

And Louis likes Harry being happy. They don’t move until Zayn texts he’s on his way, and that’s only to pull on some pants. Zayn walks in to find them wrapped up together, Harry on his back while Louis laid on his side with his head on Harry’s chest.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks the two.

“Not much,” they reply in unison, which isn’t suspicious at all.

This does not, of course, escape Zayn’s notice. He drops his stuff and squints at them on his way back out. He’s almost to the door when he stops and his face breaks out into a smirk. “Nice back, Lou,” he says slyly as he makes his exit.

Both parties on the receiving end frown in confusion. “What’s he talking about?” Harry mutters, then shifts up onto one elbow to peer around Louis at his back- and gasps.

“What?” Louis asks in concern. Harry doesn’t answer, just presses his lips together tightly and snaps a quick photo with the phone lying on his bedside table. Louis laughs out loud when he sees.

There are long, angry red marks on Louis’ back from Harry’s nails, even bleeding slightly in some places where he broke the skin. Louis may be laughing, but Harry is not. “I’m so sorry,” he says miserably. “I didn’t mean to- I wasn’t trying to- jesus, Lou, I’m so sorry!”

“Are you shitting me?” Louis grins over at him. “That was fucking hot.”

“Wait- what?”

“I got off on that,” Louis informs him, quieter, in case Zayn is too near the bedroom door. “So _definitely_ not anything to apologize for.”

Harry is hopelessly confused. “But didn’t it… hurt?”

“Mmhmm. What can I say? Everyone has their thing. I just… I happen to not mind it rough, is all.” Louis is only being honest, but he can tell it might be a little much for Harry all at once. He kisses the boy’s chest and tries to tone it down. “Listen, don’t worry about it, okay? Just a little Louis Fun Fact. Bottom line is that I’m not upset and you don’t have to apologize, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And that you’re welcome to dig your nails in wherever you want. Except maybe where I have tattoos- can’t have you fucking up my ink, even if it feels ace.”

Harry laughs, loudly, and leans down to kiss Louis’ mouth. “What are we supposed to say to Zayn, though? Aren’t you like, embarrassed?” he giggled quietly.

“That I made you come that hard? Not particularly.”

“Louis!”

“Yeah, yeah, behave, I know. Hey Zayn,” Louis calls, his voice carrying throughout the flat. “Would you believe me if I said that this wasn’t what it looks like?”

“The room smells like sex,” Zayn calls back with laughter in his voice.

“Ah, well. Guess the cat’s out of the bag.” Louis scoots to lay more on top of Harry so that he can feel the way his chest and stomach move when he laughs at Louis’ jokes. It feels nice, and Louis keeps telling them. Harry keeps laughing. It feels kind of perfect, Louis thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I titled my chapters, that would be called "Louis learns to shut the fuck up and everybody wins as a result." (laughing crying emoji)
> 
> PS tell me you got the fat flower line or I'm going to change my url and go back to writing het 2nd-person oneshots 
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: next to zero bad stuff and even some boys doing things to other boys' penises :) :)

The funny thing- well, sort of funny, but no one was really laughing- is that Louis seemed to be taking The Thomas Situation as badly as Harry was. At least Harry had someone to talk to about it, someone who was his rock. Louis loved being that for Harry, but the problem was that Harry couldn’t reciprocate.

Which wasn’t his fault- Louis just stubbornly refused to allow any of his negative feelings to show through for Harry to see.

And there were negative feelings galore spinning around in Louis’ strange little mind. There was worry that Thomas would hurt Harry, and anger that he dared to show his face again after what he did. There was fear, even, because Harry was the love of Louis’ life and he was hanging out dangerously close to a loose canon.

And -not that you could get Louis to admit it, but- there might have been a little jealousy.

It was completely stupid. Like, _insanely_ stupid. Somewhere up in his head Louis knows that Harry has feelings for him, strong ones, and that Harry knows how bad Thomas was for him. Jealousy shouldn’t be an issue, because there’s nothing to worry about.

But it may or may not be one of the reasons that Louis rearranges his work schedule a little so that he’s always off in time to ‘pick up’ Harry after his management class.

It’s either really impressive or really sad, the way that Louis can instantly pick out Harry in the crowd of people spilling from the front entrance of the building. He doesn’t have to wear bright colors to stand out to Louis. That silhouette, that walk, that everything is as familiar to him as his own face.

Today, though, there’s another familiar frame walking close to his, an arm slung around Harry’s shoulders. It’s Thomas, as bright and confident as Harry is shrinking and nervous. Thomas must be telling some story, because the hand that isn’t cupping Harry’s shoulder is gesturing wildly in the air, and when he guffaws wildly it prompts a weak chuckle from Harry.

The whole scene kind of makes Louis nauseous.

So nauseous that he really can’t be blamed for grabbing Harry by the waist as soon as he’s within arm’s reach. “Hey, babe,” he says sweetly. “Thomas,” he adds without a trace of sugar.

“Hi Louis,” Harry says happily, body already relaxing in relief. He hasn’t said it out loud, exactly, but Louis knows he’s glad to be met at the door. Thomas puts him on edge. Louis brings him back down.

Thomas has ignored the exchange, continuing on with his story like he’s still just talking to Harry and only sparing an irritated glance for Louis. His desire for Louis to just disappear off the planet is adamantly mutual, which Louis demonstrates by putting one hand on the back of Harry’s neck, one hand on his hip, and pulling their mouths together in a warm kiss.

At first Harry’s stiff with surprise, both at the suddenness of it and the way that this kiss is far too deep for a public place. Louis’ sighing into his mouth and holding him close like how they usually only do behind closed doors. But then, as he always does, Harry melts into it with a quiet little exhale of satisfaction because _damn_ if Louis isn’t perfect.

“Excuse me,” Thomas says, put out. Neither Harry nor Louis is paying him much attention, but if he’s addressing Louis it’s the first word he’s said to him since returning.

Louis doesn’t give a shit. “He’s busy,” he replies on Harry’s behalf, then nudges him until Harry’s back is against the wall and Louis’ whole body is pressed against him. The hand in Harry’s hair tugs a little, while the other slips down to cradle the curve of Harry’s bum. The kisses he takes are needy.

Harry’s already long gone. He’s whimpering and sighing in equal parts, a quiet chorus of approval whispered into Louis’ mouth. He’s hard, too, unwaveringly ready as always to accept Louis’ touch.

It’s a while before Louis pulls back and they both can catch their breath, but when they do, Thomas has disappeared. Louis smirks in satisfaction. Harry just looks a little mortified, but that’s probably because of the stares they’re drawing with their steamy snog in the middle of campus.

“People are looking,” Harry whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry, should I stop touching you?” Louis wickedly replies, with a full-fledged grin of his own.

“No!”

“Then follow me.” Louis gives the scene a surreptitious once-over and leads Harry around to the back of the building, where the only moving thing in the unused loading dock was a solitary pigeon pecking at the ground. Harry pulls Louis to him the second they’re out of sight, and they spend a few heated moments with Louis taking care of Harry as the clouds from their breath mingle in the air between them.

Harry leans against the brick wall behind him and lets Louis zip his pants back up as he accepts a fond peck on the lips. “Okay, be honest,” he asks the older boy mildly. “Was that about Thomas?”

“Me pulling you off? No, love, that was definitely about me and you.”

“Louuuuuuu,” Harry whined. “You know what I meant. Since when are you into PDA?”

“What, you didn’t like it?”

“I was about to cum in my pants. I liked it fine. But that’s not the point and you know it.”

Louis does know it, just like he knows that Harry is far too smart to fall for his evasions. “Okay, fine. I might have been a teensy tiny littlebitjealousorsomething,” he blurted without meeting Harry’s eyes.

“Sorry, what was that?” Harry blinked innocently.

 _“Jealous,_ okay? I was jealous,” groaned Louis. “And it was stupid and I know that and I regret nothing, because at the end of the day I’m the one who gets see the pretty face you make when you cum, so there.” He finishes the sentiment with a chaste kiss to his boyfriend’s mouth that _almost_ made him seem innocent.

And Harry is far too smart to fall for that, but he lets Louis win this one. If his boyfriend wants to be protective and get him off in a secluded corner of campus just because he cared a little too much, it wasn’t a battle Harry was going to fight.

…………………

“Is it wrong of me to say that I really dislike Thomas?” Harry asked one day as he and Louis walked home from management class.

“Of course not,” Louis instantly replies. “You could even say the h- word if you wanted to. You know, the one that rhymes with date.”

Harry smiles at Louis’ gentle teasing but just shakes his head. “I can’t- I just- ‘hate’ doesn’t feel right. I don’t want to hate anyone. But I wish he wasn’t in my life anymore.”

“I know,” soothes Louis. “It’s a really shit situation. I can’t believe you’re handling it as well as you are.”

There’s a quiet that lasts too long, and when Louis glances over he can see tears in Harry’s eyes. “I don’t feel like I’m handling it very well.”

“What are you talking about? Talk to me, babe, what’s the matter?” Louis pulls Harry off to the side of the walkway and takes both of his hands. Harry sniffles suspiciously and won’t meet Louis’ gaze.

“It’s just so weird,” he confesses after a moment. “He was gone, and everything was better, and I got used to not being worried all the time, but now he’s back. And even though everything’s different, it’s still hard to just… to just sit in the same room as him every day and pretend like nothing happened.”

“Of course,” murmured Louis. “I can’t even imagine.”

“I kind of-” Harry breaks off and shakes his head like he can clear the thoughts from it.

“You kind of what?”

“I kind of wish he was acting mean to me so that I wouldn’t feel gross about disliking him.”

Louis just smiles and drops Harry’s hands so he can wrap his arms around the younger boy’s waist. “Well it _would_ be nice to have a reason to fuck his face up for you. But. You don’t have to justify the way you feel. Okay?”

“Okay. I feel sad,” he tacks on as an afterthought. “I feel sad today.”

It’s kind of a huge thing for him to say. It’s not that it’s rare for him to be sad, or that it’s rare for Louis to notice. But for Harry to _admit_ it, out of the blue, with only minimal prompting from Louis…

“I know just the cure, love,” Louis confidently replies. “When we get back to your flat, I’m going to run you a hot bath, with lots of bubbles. And then I’m going to wash your hair for you, and wrap you up in blankets as soon as you’re out of the tub, and you’re going to stay there while I make you food. Or go buy you food. Whichever you want. Which will probably not be me making you food, but the offer stands.”

Sometimes when Harry’s about to do a happy cry his nose crinkles up, and Louis kisses it now. “It’s like you know me or something,” Harry mumbled, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Or something. Come on, then, I’ve got a baby to take care of.”

And as much as Harry protests that he is _not_ a baby and he does _not_ need Louis to take care of him, that’s precisely what Louis does. He knows that baths and showers are Harry’s first line of defense against sad moods, so he makes sure the water is the perfect temperature. He knows Harry will purr like a cat if his hair gets played with, so he uses gentle hands to wash every bubble from those curls.

He swaddles Harry up and deposits him in bed, adding his own body as the top layer of warmth and smiles down at his glowy boyfriend. “Do you feel better?”

“You know I do,” Harry smiles.

Which Louis does know, but hearing it makes him kiss Harry anyways. “I’m sorry that things are rough for you right now,” he says softly, “and I’m sorry that I can’t really help. I wish I could. But I’m here for you, you know that, right?”

“I know. Thank you. I-”

For a second, Louis holds his breath because it feels like Harry might say something profound, like he might say the kind of thing Louis’ been thinking since before they were even together. It’s on the tip of Louis’ tongue. It feels like maybe it’s on the tip of Harry’s, too.

But then the moment passes, and Harry just stretches up to kiss Louis’ mouth once more. “I’m glad I have you in my life,” he finishes.

It’s enough for Louis. It’s more than enough. “Me too,” he whispers back, and that’s enough, too.

…………………

“No, hear me out,” Louis was protesting as they walked through the door and into Harry’s flat. “Football isn’t just a sport, it’s like a part of our culture. We are defined by the kind of activities our society values, and look what kind of message football sends!”

“That we should chase around small objects to get them into boxes and lie a lot about being hurt?”

Louis sighs like he’s heard this all before- which he has, at least a dozen times. “No, no, no. You’re not thinking deep enough. It says that you don’t have to be the biggest or the strongest to be the best! Some of the best footballers were small and smart, rather than big and strong.”

“Good things come in little packages,” summarized Harry with a smirk, pulling Louis to him. If he tilted his head back just the tiniest bit he could tuck Louis beneath his chin, no problem.

“Damn straight.”

“I’m pretty gay, actually,” Harry quipped. Louis couldn’t see from down there by his collarbones, but he was probably grinning at his own joke. “I’ve got this fit boyfriend…”

“Fit, eh?” Louis chuckled, pressing a kiss to the stubble on Harry’s throat. “What kind of things do you like to do with this fit boyfriend of yours?”

“Bit strange to say out loud… maybe I’ll just have to show you sometime.”

Harry felt Louis’ lips forming a hopeful little smile against his skin. “Now counts as ‘sometime,’ right?”

This was going in a direction that Harry very much approved of. “Zayn did say he had plans tonight. But I thought you wanted me to bake you cookies, though,” Harry hesitated. Louis shivered in his arms when he trailed a few fingertips up and down his spine.

“Hmm. Cookies or cock? Awful decision to be asked to make. Life is cruel.”

Harry snorted loudly, then kissed Louis’ temple. “How about I start the cookies and once they’re in the oven…?”

“How long do they bake for?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“I’ll have to make quick work of you… good thing I love a challenge.” Louis stretched up on tiptoes to capture Harry’s lip between his teeth in a lingering kiss. “I’ll be waiting. In your bed. Don’t dawdle, Harry Styles.”

“Yes sir! I mean- no sir? I’ll be fast.”

“I’m banking on it.” Louis turned and sashayed away towards the bedroom. Harry was already pulling ingredients from cabinets with record speed.

The next thing Harry heard was Louis’ swearing, Zayn’s shout of ‘fuck off!’ and the crack of wood on wood as a door was slammed shut.  Louis came tearing into the kitchen with a face so white he had to have seen a ghost.

“What the- Lou, are you okay?” asked Harry, instantly concerned. “Was that Zayn’s voice? But I thought-”

“Apparently he doesn’t have fucking ‘plans,’” Louis returns in obvious distress, “because he’s home. And he’s in the bedroom. With Niall.”

“Oh.” Harry stalled for a minute, trying to reconcile the words coming out of Louis’ mouth with the look of panic on his face. “Erm. Well do you want to invite them to share the cookies?”

“That is _not_ the problem, Harry!”

“Then what-? Jesus, Lou, we can kick them out, or go to your place, or something,” Harry tried next. “Bathroom’s always a square option, too-”

“No, I don’t think you understand,” interrupted Louis firmly. “Zayn is in the bedroom. With _Niall.”_

“And?”

“Harry, he’s touching Niall’s-” Louis broke off with a furious blush, apparently too overcome with emotion to speak. He simply gestured toward his crotch with a great deal of emphasis, as if that one motion could communicate the dire nature of this situation.

Harry could only stare blanky. “You mean his cock? Zayn is touching Niall’s cock?”

_“Yes!”_

“Oh. Well, people do that sometimes,” Harry continued cautiously. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept. We do it sometimes. A lot, actually, we do it pretty often-”

“Yeah, but…” Louis was at a loss for words, which was all of the cue Harry needed to understand just how bad this really was. Louis had words for everything. Now, though, it took several breaths before he could push any out. “But this is _Niall,_ okay? Niall’s straight. He’s straighter than straight. Niall hits on my mum, he hits on everything with a twat, he’s- he’s _super_ straight. Why…?”

“Do you not like Niall and Zayn being together?” questioned Harry, as the pieces started to fall together. Obviously Louis didn’t have a problem with gay men- _that_ idea was laughable. But maybe he didn’t like Zayn?

Louis appeared to be absolutely miserable. “I don’t give a shit who they date, as long as it’s someone who treats them well.”

“Then why-?”

“Because how could I not have known Niall was queer?” Louis wailed at last.

And there it was. The golden ticket. Beneath all the panic and the sarcasm, here was the real problem. Louis, who knew everything, hadn’t known this. Louis, who saw everything, hadn’t seen this coming. Louis had been stumped. And apparently, Louis didn’t handle that too well.

Harry mustered all of his strength and tried very hard not to laugh. It wasn’t really funny, because Louis looked like he might cry over it, but it really sort of was. “It’s okay, Lou, really,” he said gently, reaching out to wrap his arms around those slight, drooping shoulders. “You can’t know everything, all the time.”

“Yes I can,” pouted Louis. “I always do.”

“Well, sexuality is complicated. Maybe there weren’t signs for you to pick up on, and that’s how come you didn’t know.” Harry presses a kiss to the top of Louis head which he hopes communicates how proud he is of that comeback.

Louis is less impressed. “There are always signs,” he firmly returns. “And Niall is one of my best mates! He’s- Jesus, he’s practically my little brother at this point. How could I not have seen this coming?”

It’s a lost cause at this point, Harry knows, to try to change Louis’ mind. Now is the time for damage control. “Look at the bright side, at least our best friends are dating people we like! That’s a good thing, right?”

“Well we’re not technically dating. Yet.” Niall comes shuffling into the kitchen in sweatpants and no shirt, hair comically ruffled and face tellingly flushed. “Zayn hasn’t asked me out or anything.”

“Why do I have to ask _you_ out?” protested Zayn as he joined them, looking markedly more put-together. “It’s 2014, you could ask me out, too.”

“You made the first move! That means it’s your go.”

There’s a snappy retort of Zayn’s tongue, everyone can see it, but he bites it back. “Niall, will you go out with me?” he simply asks, the eye roll all but visible in his words.

Niall flashed him a grin. “Yeah, sure.”

Louis was following the conversation back and forth with dazed turns of his head, like watching a game of ping-pong where he didn’t quite understand the rules. “Just like that?” he murmured, almost to himself.

The other three men looked back and forth between each other like they could communicate where all the land mines were in this conversation before anyone stepped on one. “Just like what?” Zayn finally asked.

“Just like that, Niall’s queer?”

Now everyone’s eyes were on the Irishman. “I guess,” he answered at length, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge and digging in with genuine nonchalance. “Why?”

“Nothing. No reason.” Louis was starting to pull himself together a little, Harry could see that. He almost looked calm when he added, “Just unexpected is all.”

“I’m not that worried about it,” Niall shrugged. “Don’t feel like it’s a big deal, I guess? I like a boy. We’re dating. What’s for dinner, anyone know?”

And just like that, everything was back to normal- sort of. Louis still finds himself thinking in the back of his mind about every instance in which Zayn and Niall have been in the same room, like he might pick out some hushed conversation about sucking each other off that he’d forgotten about. Zayn and Niall sit closer together, talk quieter, lean into one another in a way that’s brand new. Harry keeps whispering into Louis’ ear that missing one thing doesn’t make him any less brilliant. But overall, it’s okay again.

“No fucking on my couch,” Louis even finds the lightness to tease by the end of the night.

“Neither of us live there, why would we- hell, _you_ guys are the ones I should be worried about fucking on _my_ couch,” Zayn snorted.

There isn’t really a response for a point that logical. Louis doesn’t respond. He also doesn’t make any promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ZIALL GIVES ME LIFE AND I WON'T APOLOGIZE FOR IT
> 
> Speaking of... actually this is entirely unrelated to anything that anyone was talking about, but I have a special offer for y'all! Due to some interest from some of my followers, I have decided to open up my submission box this week! That's right, YOU, my faithful readers, can **request oneshots from me** :)
> 
> I'm accepting all types of requests, and instructions can be found [here](http://canonlarry.tumblr.com/post/89488632720/so-if-i-asked-you-if-you-could-write-a-het-oneshot-for) on my tumblr, canonlarry :) You can put your request in my inbox, my submit, or the comments below if you're super lazy and/or don't have a tumblr.
> 
> Deadline for requests is Friday at 5pm so that they can all be written by the weekend! Okay that's it, carry on :)
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: homophobia, hate language, lots of stress, y'all are gonna be so mad at me

Spring is just starting to breathe life into the city when everything starts to go wrong.

Louis keeps making it a point to pick Harry up after the class he shares with Thomas, but no matter how often he sweeps the boy off his feet, it seems to help less and less. Thomas still trails along too close to him, Harry still feels tense beneath Louis’ fingertips for hours after. Louis asks -he can’t stop himself from asking- but he never pushes. Harry would come to him if things were too bad.

Right?

It doesn’t take long for Harry to spill. He isn’t made for keeping secrets, after all. “Thomas is starting to… he’s getting really creepy,” he mumbled to Louis one night. Their tea mugs are empty and he’s curled his gangly limbs into a ball pressed to Louis’ side.

“Creepy how?” Louis asked, ever gentle.

“He keeps saying things. That aren’t… erm, appropriate. And I keep telling him not to, I swear, but he just…”

Louis’ stomach is starting to give its trademark Thomas Reaction, a mix of nausea and fire and sinking and turning that is all too familiar. “What kinds of things? It’s okay, you can tell me. I want to know so I can help you, if I can.”

Harry doesn’t want to. It’s written all over his face. He does, though, because this is his Louis and there’s probably nothing that he could ever say that Louis would use to hurt him. That much he knows. “He wants me to come back to him,” Harry confesses shakily. “He says he can be better than you. And he says I want to, which I _don’t,_ I swear-”

“I know, baby, I know.” It isn’t anything that Louis wasn’t expecting. He still feels sick hearing it. “What… what exactly has he said?”

The thin line of Harry’s lips pressed together remains sealed for a long minute. “It feels sick to repeat it.”

“You don’t have to. Of course you don’t,” Louis assures him, rubbing big, soothing circles into Harry’s back. “It’s okay. You’re alright.”

“He wants me to suck his cock,” Harry continues quietly, more bravely than he feels. “He keeps asking if his is bigger than yours, if I like his better. And he says he could suck me off, too, cause he knows I always wanted that.”

“It’s okay,” Louis whispers. He’s talking to Harry, too.

There are a few quiet minutes. “I would never cheat on you,” Harry says, even though he doesn’t have to. “I would never go back to him. I would never even think about it.”

“It’s alright if you do think about it, though,” Louis has to force himself to say. It’s the right thing to say. He doesn’t want to say it.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“He was your first love, it’s… it would be normal, if you were tempted. To go back. I would understand if you thought about it.”

Harry sits straight up like he’s been struck. “Louis- I would _never-”_

“Well it’s not like I want you to go back to him or anything, I just don’t want you to feel bad if you’re like, conflicted or whatever.” The shock doesn’t leave Harry’s wide eyes, and Louis feels his heart tugging at him to relent. “Nevermind, baby,” he sighs at last. “Forget I said anything, okay? You’re alright. We’ll be alright.”

It’s sort of his mantra from then on out, whenever Harry’s face gets pinched and sad, or when Louis’ mind starts racing with a list of all the reasons why maybe Thomas might seem better than him. _More money. Handsome. Athletic. Popular. First love. Has his own place. First love. Strong. First love._

Sometimes the list is hard to drown out. Harry’s heartbeat is always louder.

…………………

Harry never really owned up to how bad things were getting. He didn’t need to, first of all, and second of all he didn’t _want_ to. It was like if he ignored it hard enough, the problem would go away. Thomas would go away.

A note landed on his desk halfway through the lecture, like a grotesque throwback to primary school. He didn’t have to look up to know the source was the ever-present sore spot sitting in the seat directly to his left.

_How long until you admit I’m better than him? You LOVE me._

As it turns out, you can tear a standard sheet of paper into approximately 600 little pieces before it gets too tiny to comfortably handle.

Thomas is undeterred. He’s uncomfortably close and murmuring in Harry’s ear as soon as the lecture is over. “You’re playing hard to get, baby, but I saw the way you looked at me. You loved every minute we were together.”

It’s a lie too big for Harry to take down. “You’re not gay,” he throws out in defense. “You hate fags. This is just a way for you to manipulate me-”

“Don’t take me so seriously, Harry. Haz,” Thomas lightly sighed. “I was confused. I’m unconfused now.”

He’s blocking the way to the exit, standing between Harry and his very literal escape. “Were you confused when you said I was a disgusting piece of shit because I was gay? Because you seemed pretty clear on that.”

It’s like Thomas can hear the hesitation behind Harry’s words. “I was confused,” he countered smoothly. “I was afraid to be honest with myself, to be different. But I grew a pair, and I know what I want.”

“I hope it’s leaving me alone, because that’s what I want,” Harry snaps, finally managing to squeeze past Thomas and down the aisle towards the doors. He prays the fear in his eyes isn’t visible. He hopes his pounding heart isn’t as loud as he thinks it is.

Thomas is hot on his heels, though. “Not quite. It’s _you,_ Harry. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

“I’m n-not yours,” Harry stutters, walking faster. It doesn’t get him any further away from his menacing shadow. “You can’t own a person.”

“You’re just being coy. How could you not want me back?” It’s right in Harry’s ear.

“I just _don’t-_ oh, for Christ’s sake!” Harry swore, looking at the confusion of the traffic flow in the lobby. There was a maintenance worker on a ladder directly in front of the main doors, blocking everyone’s exit and sending people scurrying for alternate routes. Harry refuses to stop moving, turning down a random hallway and praying there’s an exit somewhere at the end of it. Maybe Thomas will lose him in the crowd.

He doesn’t. It’s a miracle Thomas doesn’t trip over Harry, the way he follows just a breath behind. There’s a long hallway, a few turns, an exit door. Harry hurries towards it like it’s the light at the end of the tunnel.

But not all exits are escapes and not all tunnels end in light. This one ends in the space between two buildings where all Harry can see is a handful of dumpsters and a dozen empty beer bottles. Something deep in his gut twists a little just before Thomas grabs him by the waist and pushes his back against the wall.

It’s a grim sort of echo of when he was back here with Louis, except really it isn’t. He doesn’t feel attraction this time. He feels fear. Horror, and anger, and lots and lots of fear.

“Come over to my place tonight and I'll fuck you better than that twink ever could,” Thomas whispers hotly in Harry’s ear. “He doesn't even have to know, it'd be our little secret, baby.”

All of the breath whooshes out of Harry’s lungs. Thomas is tangling his hand in those curls, tilting Harry’s neck to the side and sucking a hickey into the pale skin he finds there, and Harry can’t find his voice. His lips keep forming desperate cries of _no,_ but words can’t have sound without air and that’s the one thing Harry doesn’t have.

“You’re mine, Harry.”

Weak hands scramble to find purchase on Thomas’ chest, to push him off, to get him far, far away. But Thomas has always been stronger. Thomas always called the shots. It’s the night he hurt Harry all over again, except this time he doesn’t even have to raise his fist to overpower him.

Harry never had a chance. He keeps fighting anyway.

…………………

Maybe Louis worries too much. Maybe he needs to learn how to relax a little more, or stress a little less, or something. Like if Harry takes an extra two minutes to leave class, it shouldn’t be a big deal. Classes run over. People walk slow. It’s nothing.

It’s isn’t nothing, though, because Louis’ gut is twisting and he’s climbing up the building’s steps to investigate. They’re blocked by a man on a ladder, and people are turning away. Louis does too, circling the building like he can’t help himself, searching for curly hair or green eyes in the crowd-

He almost doesn’t notice them, back there where trash and debris hide them from people passing by. It’s the sharp little gasp that somehow catches his attention, and it’s just a quick breath in but it’s _Harry_ and he knows it and he’s running towards the sound.

“Get the _fuck_ off of him,” he’s barking before his brain can even process what his eyes are seeing. There’s Harry, shoved against a wall, wide-eyed and pale and quaking. There’s Thomas, with his mouth on Harry’s skin, hands vice-like on his body, feet braced for a fight. The words leave him strong and loud and somehow not half as furious as he feels.

Thomas freezes. Doesn’t back off. Louis is there in a breath, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and hauling him backwards, shoving him across the alley with all the force his slight body can muster. It’s instinct, almost, to go after him. But it’s instinct, definitely, to catch Harry before he crumples to the ground.

The younger boy doesn’t seem to have a single part of him that isn’t trembling. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Louis growls at Thomas, who’s steadying himself a few meters away.

“How do you know he didn’t want it? Always been a little slut,” Thomas tacked on with a sneer.

Harry’s grip on Louis’ sweater gets tighter in sudden panic. “No, Louis, I swear I didn’t want it, I’m so sorry- I _swear_ I tried to get him to stop-”

“I know, baby, I know,” Louis instantly soothes. “I know. In what fucking universe is crying and panicking a way of showing you want it?” he spits at Thomas. “You give me one fucking reason I shouldn’t knock you the fuck out right now.”

He isn’t a violent man. He really isn’t. But just then, Louis has never meant any threat more. Luckily he’s also pretty logical, so it’s only when Thomas can only smirk at him and shrug that Louis comes to the conclusion that there _isn’t_ a reason not to knock him out, sets Harry up on his own two feet, and takes a couple of strides to put momentum into the fist he plants right in the middle of Thomas’ face.

Suddenly it’s _Harry_ holding _him,_ and it’s an embrace of capture rather than comfort. “Louis, no,” Harry hiccups as he hauls them both backwards with all his might. “Please don’t. He’ll hurt you, he’ll-”

“I don’t need to lay a fucking hand on him,” Thomas snaps around the hand that’s catching the blood gushing from his nose. “He’s not gonna touch me.”

“Oh really?” challenged Louis with a mirthless laugh. “You’ve got a fuckton of face left, you prick!”

The smirk on Thomas’ face looks even more gruesome with the blood. “And if you put a finger on me, I’ll leak the video.”

It’s a sneaky left hook that Louis didn’t expect for once. “Wh-what?” he fumbled. “What video? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, just a little video I took last semester,” answered Thomas with too much glee in his eyes. “It’s your little slut, moaning with my cock down his throat. Wanna see it?”

Harry almost cracks his head on the pavement that time before Louis can grab him and slow his fall. He’s in a dead faint. Louis sinks to his knees to cradle his limp frame. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispers. It’s all the volume he can manage with that band around his chest. “Don’t you fucking do this to him. He has done _nothing_ to you.”

“He fucking _humiliated_ me,” Thomas hissed back. “You’d better believe I’m going to do it right back. I’ll show the whole campus he’s a fucking whore.”

“He’s not-!”

“He _is._ And you know what the best part is?” There’s a tense pause where Louis can only watch from where he’s kneeling with Harry’s head clutched to his chest as Thomas comes to stand right over them. “You can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Face it, Tomlinson. You’re _my_ bitch now.”

And then he’s gone.

…………………

It’s the bruised jaw all over again, but somehow it’s ten times worse. Harry is no longer some kid who’s fallen victim to an abusive asshole. That was bad enough, but now this is _his_ Harry, with a hickey on his neck and tears constantly in his eyes, trying to hide behind sweaters and hands. It’s worse like that.

He knows it doesn’t help that every time he catches sight of the bruise sucked into the place just under the curve of his jaw, a hot coil of anger starts up in the pit of his stomach. The rest of the evening is a stonily silent game of Harry pretending he isn’t terrified of what Thomas said and Louis pretending he doesn’t want to climb the walls to find and hurt him.

“This is ridiculous,” he sighed to Harry at last, when it’s the next morning and nothing feels any less grey. “You’re upset, I’m upset… why don’t we just let ourselves be upset? There’s no sense pretending.” Harry just looks at him in incomprehension. “Let’s skip our classes and just wallow today. We can eat ice cream and watch really shitty reality TV and wrap up together in fuzzy blankets and just be miserable together.”

“Is that gonna help?” Harry asks hesitantly.

Louis scooches closer to Harry’s spot on the couch and cuddles into his side. “Yeah, of course. It’s called catharsis. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

That makes Harry smile. “Will there be frustrated pity sex?”

“Well if you insist...” Louis tilts his head back and accepts a long kiss from Harry. It’s tinged with a little anxiety, but that’s okay. It’s the first honest kiss they’ve had in 24 hours.

They don’t have frustrated pity sex, of course. Neither is really in the mood, with angry touches still lingering on Harry’s skin and a video that could tear him apart hidden on a hard drive somewhere. It’s a heavy burden to bear.

Neither is fooled by the charade, either. Harry keeps watching how Louis’ eyes are drawn to that hickey, and every time he intercepts that simmering stare he bites his poor lip just a little bit harder in worry. “Why don’t you fix it, Louis?” he asks quietly, out of the blue.

“Fix what?” Louis has to ask when all he wants to say is ‘yes.’

“The hickey. I don’t like having his…” Harry trials off and swallows hard before he can finish. “His brand. On me.”

It makes Louis’ heart sink even lower to hear the sadness in Harry’s voice. “I can’t fix that, babe,” he murmurs.

“Make another one,” suggests Harry with earnest eyes. “Right on top of it. So it cancels him out and I’ll just be yours.”

“Absolutely not.” It comes out too harsh, harsh enough to put out Harry’s light. Louis backtracks. “What I mean- it doesn’t work that way, I don’t think. I love giving you lovebites and making you feel special and protected but... this isn’t the same.”

“Not when you’re trying to get back at Thomas,” Harry finishes. He knows.

“Exactly.”

They don’t talk for a while after that. Harry finds his way into the comfort of Louis’ arms, and Louis hangs on for dear life. If they can hear each other’s heartbeat, it might keep tomorrow at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I speak for us all when I say FINALLY SOMEONE FUCKING PUNCHED THOMAS
> 
> Side note: yesterday I mentioned about being open for oneshot requests and I have since received almost THIRTY. Soooo unfortunately in order to keep my sanity I'm closing requests at 5pm EST today. Sorry! Just didn't expect that sort of volume. You guys are so imaginative and give me such interesting prompts, though, I love it! Just hurry up and get them in before 5pm tonight :)
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: homophobia, homophobic language, potential feels overdose

But the thing about tomorrow is that it can never really be held at bay. You can hold each other as tight as you want, but it doesn't change the way the world spins incessantly.

The phone calls start up that very next morning. Harry doesn’t answer them- even if he wanted to, Louis has assured him that the best thing to do is ignore the way Thomas can’t seem to stop blowing up Harry’s phone. There are texts, too, a hundred different variations of _I know you want my cock_ and _come to my place tonight._ Harry doesn’t get to hear the voicemails, since Louis listens to and deletes all those for him, but the revulsion and anger on Louis’ face says that it might be more of the same.

“I guess it would probably be kind of a hassle to change your number, wouldn’t it?” Zayn asked pensively at dinner the next night when Harry’s phone buzzed to signal yet another message. “Like you’d have to tell all of your contacts, but it’s not like you have business cards you’d have to redo.”

“Can’t you just block his number?” suggests the blonde tucked under his arm.

“Tried already,” Harry sighed. “He changed _his_ so he could get around the block. I might look into changing mine, though…”

Liam is blunt. “But you’d still have to see him. Like in class and stuff.”

“Tomorrow will be the first time,” confirms Harry. He sounds a lot braver than he looks.

He doesn’t have to be brave, though, because Louis is literally right by his side. “I’m going with you,” he informs the younger boy. “I’ll sit in on your class so he’ll leave you alone. He talks tough shit but he probably doesn’t want another fist to the face, so.”

“You don’t have to do that, Louis-”

“I know.” And that’s final.

Harry is saved from having to come up with a dignified way to lose by a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” he quickly volunteered, unfolding his giant spider limbs and stumbling across the flat to answer.

But the door is being slammed shut almost as soon as it’s open- or it _would_ be, if Thomas hasn’t stuck his foot in so that he can still peer in at the startled Harry. “Come on, let me in. I just want to talk, baby.”

It seems to stun them all when it’s Niall who’s up first, striding over and brushing Harry aside. “He’s not your baby,” he informs Thomas before promptly shutting the door in his face. It takes everyone a second to realize that he was able to largely because of the way he’s sent a heel smashing down into Thomas’ instep.

“Oh my _god,_ Niall,” Harry breathed, a startled little laugh. “Oh my _god.”_

“Maybe someone else should answer your door from now on, Harry,” Niall simply replied.

Liam spied out the window to watch until Thomas’ car was gone before he, Zayn and Niall made their exit to sort out something for dinner. Harry and Louis hang back. No one asks them why.

It’s hard to say who’s fretting more of the two of them. “He knows where I live,” Harry blurts out as soon as the door closes, just as Louis laments, “Fucking everywhere, isn’t he?”

The phone buzzes again, and they both look despite themselves. _Slam the door in my face all you want but be careful,_ it read. And then another: _I’ll tell everyone the truth about what you did to me._

“I think this is terrorism,” Harry whispered. Louis might be inclined to quibble a bit, if for no other reason than to distract them both, but then the third text comes through and it sort of destroys everything.

**_(Thomas, 7:45 PM)_ ** _I’m going to tell everyone about how you raped me._

Harry gasps, hard, and can’t seem to force the air back out of his lungs. “R- ra- I would nev- oh my god,” he splutters eventually, tears leaking from his eyes.

Louis holds him tight. “I know, baby,” he says past the anger in his gut. “I know you would never. He’s fucking with your head again, that’s all.”

“He never- He never said he liked it but he always told me I could,” Harry continues miserably, desperation in his voice as he plead for Louis’ understanding. “I never would have- if he didn’t want- I-”

“You don’t have to convince me,” said Louis firmly. “I know. I believe you.”

After a few minutes Harry quiets until he’s just a small, sad ball curled up in Louis’ arms. “What if it looks like that on the video? What if Thomas leaks it and… and people think that I… did that?”

“I don’t know what the video looks like,” Louis has to say, “but people will see the truth. They won’t believe that you could ever hurt someone, you’re too sweet for that. I know that. I would never think that, and neither would anyone that knows you.”

Harry’s head pops up and he has a fierce look in his eyes. “You’re never going to see it. Even if Thomas- no matter what, you can’t watch it. Promise me you won’t.”

“Of course not. Whatever you want,” Louis instantly promises. “Even though I would never think bad of you for it. Just- no, I promise I won’t, I’m just saying.”

“You say that _now,_ but what about when you saw how much I liked it?” argued Harry miserably. “You’d see how much I wanted it and you’d think I was a slut. Just like Thomas always said.”

“Thomas has his head too far up his own ass to say anything that’s half true,” snaps Louis, a lot harsher than he intends. He doesn’t mean it any less. “It’s okay that you wanted it, alright? It doesn’t make you bad. The only bad thing here is what he’s doing to you.”

“I hate him for doing this,” Harry confesses after a minute.

“Me too,” Louis readily agrees. “I hope he rots in hell. I wish-” He hesitates. “I wish you’d let me call the police so he could rot in jail, too.”

Harry tenses up under the weight of a conversation they’ve already had a dozen times over. “Louis. I can’t…”

“I know. And I respect that. I just… wish things were different, is all. So I could protect you better.”

“But if we go to the police, Thomas could leak the video. Maybe if we just ignore him, he’ll go away,” Harry recites.

Louis does his part of the conversation and nods along. “Maybe,” he says, even though Thomas has yet to stop calling. “Hopefully,” he adds, even though now he’s making house calls. “It’s your decision and I respect that,” he finishes, because it’s the strongest truth he’s got on the issue.

…………………

Thomas does not stop calling. He does not stop coming to Harry and Zayn’s flat, either, at the oddest hours and with no announcement. He doesn’t even knock on the door sometimes, just starts calling out through the wood to pollute the calm of the flat before anyone has a chance to send him away. He’s getting better at cutting to the chase and saying all the most hurtful things right at the start.

Louis keeps asking, but since Harry keeps refusing to call the cops they fall into a new routine. Louis goes to class with Harry every time, so that he never has to face Thomas alone. He gets an escort to every lecture, either Louis or Zayn or Niall or Liam, so that he’s never on campus alone. Most nights he spends in Louis’ dorm now, except when the quiet and the anonymity gets overpowered by the need to be in his own bed again.

When he _does_ go home, he’s never on his own. Louis insists upon that above all else. Thomas might behave himself on campus where there were lots of people, but here? In a dumpy flat in a dumpy neighborhood where the people next door wouldn’t be bothered to step in unless you busted a hole through the drywall and into their place?

If Thomas got ahold of Harry, alone… it wasn’t a place that Louis let his mind wander.

Overall, it was an okay system. Louis had to shift his work schedule around a bit, but between him and the others they could have someone with Harry almost all the time. The only thing- and it was a thing that Louis pointedly did _not_ advertise to his boyfriend- was the single biology lecture Louis had to skip so he could be with Harry on Thursday mornings. Not that it was a big deal. Harry was more important than bio lectures any day of the week.

It does mean that the exam sneaks up on him, though. He only knows at all because sometime back in January Harry had gone through all Louis’ syllabi and added all of his exams and due dates to the calendar on his phone so he wouldn’t forget. 24 hours prior, a cheerful little reminder popped up to let Louis know that he was officially fucked.

“It’s only on three chapters,” Harry soothes once he’s done scowling about the fact that Louis’ been skipping lectures- for _him,_ no less. “You’ve got a whole day to study, you can learn three chapters.”

“Failing the exam is inevitable,” Louis snorts. “That’s not the concerning bit. The problem is I fail the _course_ if I don’t attend, and that means leaving you alone while I go take it.”

“Oh. Zayn can’t-?”

“Art show out in town.”

“Niall?”

“Left last night to fly home for his cousin’s wedding.”

“Liam?”

It gives Louis a second’s pause, but ultimately he shakes his head. “Liam’s got class. I can’t ask him to skip, he _hates_ skipping lectures…”

“You could always just trust me to be on my own for an hour, like the twenty year-old that I am,” Harry snorts.

“I do trust you!” Louis grins in return. “Implicitly. It’s just that I don’t trust You Know Who not to choose that day to track down what dorm I’m in and come harass you while I’m not there. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.” Harry has long since stopped trying to fight Louis on this one. Two weeks of never being alone might have started to wear on him, except it was the only way that Louis seemed to stop worrying enough to focus on other, more trivial things like eating and sleeping and attending university. If it took constant supervision on Harry’s part to ensure functioning on Louis’, then it was a cross Harry would gladly bear.

It didn’t take long for Louis to sigh and slip into the bedroom to call Liam. “Hello?” he answered, and from the sound of it he was lounging quite comfortably on the couch in his and Louis’ dorm watching Britain’s Got Talent. It was his happy place, Louis knew.

Which made Louis cringe even more. “Mate, hey. How are you? You good? Have a nice day, I hope?”

“Yup, it was ace. Why, what do you need?”

“I don’t- you can’t be positive that I need something,” retorts Louis, a little defensive.

“You’re not the only one who can read people,” Liam snorts. “Come on then, out with it. What’s the matter?”

“I… I need a favor.”

“Knew it!”

“Shut _up,_ Liam.”

“Be nice or I’ll say no.”

“I just realized I have an exam tomorrow morning,” Louis huffed. “Forgot about it until it came up in my calendar from earlier this semester.”

“Oh, wow, Louis Tomlinson is forgetful? You’ve blown my socks off, mate, honestly-”

“Liam, be serious! I was supposed to watch Harry then, but I have to go take this exam or else I’ll fail the course,” explains Louis at a mumble. He crosses his fingers and hopes that Liam will connect the dots for him and not make him ask outright.

All of the teasing is gone from Liam’s voice. “I’ll stay with him tomorrow morning while you take your exam, then,” he says simply. “Wasn’t doing anything in that class anyways. No big deal.”

It is, though. Louis nudges the carpet sheepishly with his toes and grips the phone tighter. “Are you sure? I hate to ask-”

“You haven’t. I offered.”

“You’re a good friend. Like, the best,” Louis supplies in the quietest form of violent affection he can muster.

“Harry needs me, it’s a non-issue,” Liam easily returns. Louis can hear the smile return to his face when he tacks on, “Besides, I don’t want you bitching to me about failing your exam because you were too busy worrying, loverboy. You’re annoying enough as it is.”

Which pretty much sums up why Louis has the best friend in the world.

…………………

There is never a point at which it starts to get easier. The calls and the visits don’t stop, and it doesn’t hurt less, and no one ever quite figures out a way to be bothered by it less. Things get worse, and it continues to hurt, and Louis can’t do a damn thing to stop it.

He does get very good at holding Harry, though. It wasn’t a thing that he thought he needed to practice, but apparently he was an amateur before. Now when the phone refuses to quit ringing Louis knows just how to wrap his arms around the boy and squeeze so that he giggles and forgets that the sound bothers him. When there are harsh words being called to him through the door of his flat, it’s all about the way Louis can make his hands all gentle caresses so it balances everything out. That’s Louis. He’s balance. He’s safety.

But he can’t quite keep Harry safe from it all, in the end. It’s the worst it’s ever been tonight, with every pause in calls punctuated with a text, each more disgusting than the last. Louis doesn’t let Harry read. It doesn’t mean Harry can’t imagine at the contents anyways.

“Harry? I know yer in there,” Thomas shouts from the other side of the door, because of _course_ it’s not enough to merely harass Harry virtually tonight. There has to be an in-person show, too. “Saw ya come in wiff yer stupid slut boyfriend.”

“He’s drunk,” Louis sighs to himself. Harry nods from the place where he’s tucked into Louis’ side on the bed. “Shit. He’s always so much more obnoxious when he’s drunk.”

Thomas appears determined to prove him right. “Let me in so I can put m’ cock in yer mouth,” he slurs at full volume. “Loserie can watch if ‘e wants. Would that turn ya on, slut?”

“Let me get your headphones,” offered Louis, starting to get up.

But Harry holds him in place. “Don’t want them.”

“Will you at least cover your ears, then?” Louis sighed, pleading. “You know I hate you having to listen to this awful shit.”

“Harry, baby, no one but me is gonna fuck a faggot like you,” Thomas howled right on cue.

“I don’t have to block him out,” Harry stubbornly insisted. “I know better now. I have truths that cancel out his lies.”

Louis’ mouth turns up in a smile that he can’t hold back. “Like what? Tell me, baby. All your truths.”

It happens slowly instead of all at once, Harry’s truths. One by one he counters every lie that Thomas screams through the flat at them, whispers something that he knows to be true now, because of Louis. Thomas says he’s useless, but Harry’s truth is that he’s wonderful. Thomas says no one cares about him, but Harry’s truth is that Louis does. Thomas says every terrible thing under the sun but Harry has his truths and they are too strong to be broken by little lies like those.

Louis kisses Harry after every truth. He’s not sure if it helps Harry to feel strong in this quiet battle, but it helps _him._ He’s strong enough soon that he can do what he has to even if it hurts.

“Love,” he whispers softly to Harry in between one of Thomas’ propositions and a threat.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let this go on anymore.”

Harry looks at him sharply in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. “What are you- what- what are you saying?”

“I’m not- I mean I’m not leaving you or anything. Jesus, don’t look so relieved, you _know_ I would never. But baby…” Louis presses one more kiss to Harry’s jaw, in case he’s not allowed to after. “I have to call the cops.”

“Louis, no,” Harry breathes, face falling all over again. “Please-”

"I'm sorry love, but I have to,” Louis says again. “I know that's not what you want, and I'm sorry, but I can't let this go on anymore."

“We can get through this, Louis, I know we can. We already have, for weeks, we’re so strong-”

“Yeah, we’ve done this for _weeks,”_ Louis fired back as gently and firmly as he could. “He isn’t stopping and I don’t think he will. But we can’t just… live in fear like this.”

Harry sits up in bed so Louis does too, and tearful eyes meet determined ones. “We have good reason to be afraid though. I do, anyways. That video- Louis, he could leak it-”

It takes all of Louis’ will to block out the plea in Harry’s eyes and take his hands instead. "Darling,” he murmurs. “I understand if you need to be mad at me, because I’m betraying you. But I… I've reached my limit. There isn’t any other option anymore. I'm doing it whether you like it or not, because I need you safe."

No response comes, not even when seconds drag into a minute and Harry is still sitting there biting his lip to the sounds of the ugly barrage at his door. Finally, Louis slips out of bed and goes to the window so he doesn’t have to look at Harry when he makes the call. He tells the woman on the other end the entire story, about the harassment and the video and the hell that has been their lives for two weeks. Telling it all is almost as hard as knowing how badly it must be hurting the boy who trusted him until fifteen minutes ago.

The call ends, eventually, and a dial tone fills Louis’ ears. He shoves the phone in his pocket and examines the floor by his feet while he mumbles his millionth _sorry_ of the night. He doesn’t dare try to return to bed. He has a feeling he isn’t welcome there anymore.

But Harry says, “Come here. I miss you,” and when Louis turns around there’s Harry with open arms for him to crawl back into. "You're probably right,” Harry whispers when Louis does. “You usually are. And you can't keep skipping biology forever."

It’s a merciful little joke, like Harry knows Louis needs a laugh to ease his guilt, because of course Harry does know. "Who says this'll make me go to biology?"

_"Louis."_

It actually gets Louis to giggle. "Yeah, yeah, alright. I'll go. But only because I love you."

It’s funny, the moment when Louis realizes that this is the first time either of them has said it. He says it all the time in his head, tucked between other things like “pass the toothpaste” and “are you going to Niall’s tonight?” and “your skin looks as beautiful in the moonlight as it does every morning when the sunrise first lights it up.” He has told Harry he loves him so many times that he cannot hope to count it, this is just the first time Harry hears it.

There’s a look of terrified hesitation on Harry’s face, like a beautiful little deer caught in the headlights, but Louis just kisses his nose and smiles. “You don’t have to say it back,” he whispered to Harry. “Just because I said it doesn’t mean you have to. There isn’t any pressure. I’m just telling you my truth, okay? That’s all. I love you. It’s a truth.”

“Now?” Harry whispers back when he can manage, when the lump in his throat is small enough again to speak around. “When I'm supposed to be mad at you and the cops are coming and my abusive ex-turned-stalker is pounding on our door calling us fags?"

"Well, all the time, actually. Every second I'm awake and probably all of the ones I'm not.” It’s cheesy, way too cheesy, but it’s also too honest for Louis to stop himself from saying. “But yeah, right now. Because you nag me about going to classes and tell me I'm right a lot and I can't think of a better time than now to tell you the truth. So. I know how you feel, and you don’t have to say it back to me tonight. Say it back when you mean it and it feels right, not when you feel pressured to. And maybe not when I’m on top of you, either. That makes you biased so it doesn't count."

And Harry laughs, like he always does when Louis makes jokes. "I love you and I love that you laugh at my stupid jokes," Louis adds, and when he kisses Harry, hard, it’s half to distract him from the chaos outside and half to remind him that, well, he _loves_ him. Rather a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breathe a sigh of relief friends the worst is over <3
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You literally don't have to worry about anything anymore it's all just 100% fluff and I won't apologize for it because it's been a rough 107,000 words for these poor babies. Let the last 3K be purely joyous ;)
> 
> But I mean I guess for posterity's sake I'll say WARNINGS: boys touching other boys' penises

They’re still wrapped up together in the flat the next morning when the detective calls and tells Harry that there was no video. “You’re safe now, Mr. Styles. We have him on a couple different charges, so he’s going to do time. He’s cooperating at his lawyer’s advice. Oh, and he’s admitted that there was never any video- he was lying the entire time.” Harry thanks him and hangs up the phone right before he flings himself into Louis’ arms and spends the next ten minutes laughing until he cries.

The relief Louis feels is almost as sweet as the smile on Harry’s face. He was starting to miss the way those green eyes and pink lips looked when they weren’t pinched with worry.

Thomas is in jail, but they can’t keep him for long. Before he’s out, though, Harry and Louis both have restraining orders that can put him back behind bars if he ever tries to get too close again. It’s just a stupid piece of paper; it feels like more than that.

“You should go on a little holiday,” Louis suggests that weekend, when they’re beginning to remember what it’s like to not live in fear. He’s lying in bed with the tea Harry made him, watching the masterpiece that is his lover making breakfast across the dorm room. “Spring break is next week. You should go see your mum.”

“I thought we were going to spend break together?” pouted Harry. “We were gonna kick Zayn out and hole up at my place just the two of us, all week.”

Louis snorted into his tea. “Don’t you think we’ve both spent enough time holed up in that damn flat?”

That makes Harry legitimately stop what he’s doing and turn to stare Louis down with a hurt expression. “Are you saying you don’t want to spend as much time with me?”

“What? I didn’t say- come here, baby. Here. On my lap. I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to spend time with you,” Louis explained gently when the baby giraffe had settled on top of his folded legs. “I’m just saying that a little change of scenery might be nice for you. And you haven’t seen your mum or Gemma for ages.”

“That’s true,” Harry says quickly, perking up a bit. “Mum would love it if I came to visit. And you could come too, and meet them-”

“The point of you taking a holiday is that you get away from your current circumstances,” Louis hurries to interject.

“Including you?”

“Including me, yeah.”

“Then I’m not sure I like this plan anymore,” Harry scowls. “Why won’t you come with me? I’d get to leave the city and see my family, and you’d get to meet the other important people in my life. It works perfectly!”

“Are you… are you sure you _want_ to introduce me to them?” Louis finally forces himself to ask, a blush hot on his face. “I’m not really, erm, mum-pleasing material.”

“Oh, stop. My mum’s great. She’s not going to be scared off by a couple of tattoos!”

“Sixty-five, Harry. I have sixty-five tattoos. And facial piercings.”

“All of which I happen to like,” Harry insists, “and my family will support my choice in boyfriend as long as you make me happy and treat me right. Which you do. And I’ll tell them that while I’m introducing you to them next week, because you’re coming with me. Okay?”

 _He’s cute,_ Louis thinks when Harry kisses his nose and leaves to continue with breakfast without waiting for Louis’ response. _Too cute. He must be stopped._ Louis also secretly hopes that Harry never, ever stops.

As usual, it turns out that Louis was overthinking it. It goes down exactly as Harry predicts, with raised eyebrows turning to warm smiles the instant his family is informed that Louis is the kindest and stablest thing to ever happen to him. Gemma tells him that he’s cute. Anne smells like cinnamon and home.

“I’ll have to write my mum about this,” Louis whispers that night as they’re unpacking in the bedroom and waiting to be called for dinner. “I’ve met a boy’s parents and haven’t been offered money to stop dating him. This is legitimately a first.”

“Stop it,” Harry giggles, dropping the tee shirt he was putting into his old dresser so he can instead wrap his arms around Louis from behind. “Told you they’d love you.”

“Yes, well, forgive me if previous experience has made me skeptical,” retorted Louis with a roll of his eyes. “I’m still excited that it looks like I’ll escape here without having my dick chopped off.”

“Me too. I’m very fond of it,” Harry replies seriously.

“You would probably miss it when we got back to London.”

“Not until then?” Harry’s eyes are suddenly bright and his hands are making a slow trail around to the front of Louis’ body and down, down, down until he’s slowly and quietly working at Louis’ belt. “I would be missing it right now…”

The air in Cheshire must be thin or something because Louis is lightheaded already. “N- now?” he squeaked, hands gripping Harry’s wrists in the surge of adrenaline. “Here? In your mum’s house, when she’s going to call us for dinner soon?”

“There’s at least twenty minutes before dinner,” Harry murmurs with a grin. “So how about you just lay back on the bed…”

“On your childhood bed,” Louis laments even as he obeys. “In your mother’s house. While she’s downstairs making pot roast and- _oh god.”_ The protests sort of stop after that.

If he were to think very, very hard, Louis would remember why it took him two months before he’d let Harry suck him off. It had been a very sound decision at the time; Harry was fragile and this was the way Thomas had always abused him and it was probably best that Louis was careful not to trigger any memories of old trauma. But when he had finally given in, when flushed-faced pleas could no longer be ignored and Harry got his mouth on him… Louis had never been happier to be wrong in his entire life.

He has one of the pillows from Harry’s bed pressed over his face so that the noises he can’t physically keep inside will get muffled every time Harry swirls his tongue around the tip of Louis’ cock or runs his thumb across the sensitive underside. “Shit, shit, fuck, shit,” he whispers to the cotton and down.

Harry takes a breather and presses kisses to Louis’ weak thighs in between pants. “You know,” he whispers casually, “I think it would be really hot if you got your nipples pierced.”

“Anything you want,” Louis instantly returns, fighting not to buck his hips when Harry starts using his tongue to tease him again. “Get it done tomorrow if you want.”

It’s meant to keep Harry going, but instead he stops to grin up at Louis from his place between Louis’ thighs. “Wow. That didn’t take much convincing, did it?”

“You’ve got your mouth around my cock so you can have pretty much whatever you wa- Jesus _christ,_ Harry!” Louis swears before the pillow has to go back over his head. Harry can’t even hear the breathy warnings of _gonna cum gonna cum gonna-_ but he doesn’t have to. He knows the shake of Louis’ thighs by now, and is waiting for every drop with an open mouth and a satisfied hum.

“Good?” he asks cheekily when he climbs up onto the bed with Louis and kisses his slack mouth, knowing he probably still tastes salty from Louis’ own cum.

“Bloody fantastic,” Louis pants, heart still pounding. He looks over at Harry’s too-innocent face with wide-blown pupils that make Harry look like he’s glowing. “God, I wish I had time to open you up and make you fall apart from the inside,” he whispered lowly. “You deserve to get fucked so good for that.”

Which makes Harry blush, which doesn’t help Louis to not go insane, and his stomach has yet to stop quivering but already Louis is pulling Harry on top of him and sucking the taste of cum right off those plump little lips. One hand cups the cute curve of Harry’s bum while the other slips down his sweatpants to wrap around the half-hard cock. Harry’s hips move forward, begging for friction-

“Boys, dinner’s ready! Come eat!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Louis hissed. “I knew this would happen, I- where are you going?”

Harry was climbing off of him, tucking his cock back into his boxers and tugging on a hoodie to help conceal the bulge. “What? We need to go, Louis, come on.”

“But you haven’t finished,” Louis protested as he cut eyes at the door and prayed no one was eavesdropping on the other side. “I can’t do that to you. Let me get you off first-”

“It’s okay,” soothed Harry. “It’s fine. It’ll go away, I’ll survive.”

“I don’t like getting you worked up and you not finishing,” Louis finally had to huff, since persuasion wasn’t working but honesty might. “Thomas always did that to you and I just… can I just do that thing you love? That always make you cum so hard-”

Harry kisses him to cut him off. “You’re not Thomas. This doesn’t make you him. Later, okay?”

Louis can’t say that he’s thrilled with the outcome, but at least there’s a promise that he’ll get to please Harry in return later on. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he sighs at last.

“Of course! I’ll just not think about it, that’s all.”

It was a plan doomed to fail, and Louis knew it. How many studies did it take before people understood that the fastest way to ensure you thought about something was to try not to think about it? A casual brush of his hand on Harry’s upper thigh twenty minutes into dinner gave proof that he was definitely more than a little distracted.

Already Louis was coming up with a plan. “Harry,” he said casually, thinking on the fly, “I’ve got a bit of a headache. All the driving, I think. Could you maybe show me where you keep your paracetamol?”

The award goes to Louis William Tomlinson for actually making that innocent face crinkle up with worry. “Yeah, of course. Come with me, it’s upstairs in the medicine cabinet,” he told Louis, leading the way down the hallway, up the stairs, and into the tiny room. “We have a couple of different kinds, do you have any pref-”

Louis shut the door behind them and backed Harry up against the wall before he could even get the cabinet open. “I don’t have a headache, silly,” he informed the boy, kissing the curve of his jaw and grinding his hipbone against Harry’s crotch. “I just didn’t figure I was allowed to do this in front of your mum.”

“If we take too long, she’ll get suspicious,” Harry grins, but it isn’t too much of a protest. Louis is dropping to his knees and Harry isn’t half as strong as he’d need to be to say no to _that._

His words make Louis smirk up at him as he starts drawing sighs out of Harry. “We won’t be more than a couple minutes, love. I know how to make you come undone, remember?”

Harry does remember. Louis does know. They’re back before anyone has time to suspect a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying I just have the fact that tomorrow's the final update stuck in my eye.
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: TOO MANY FEELS

Getting a flat with Harry in the city is easily the best decision that Louis has ever made. Hands down, no contest. It’s not that he doesn’t like living with Liam during the semester and sleeping in his childhood bedroom on break, it’s just that roomates suck and twin beds are small and a flat to themselves meant Harry was free to roam about in as little clothing as his nudist heart desired. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved, really.

And there were so many new sides to the curly-haired masterpiece that he got to see now. The little quirks were endlessly fascinating to Louis; he would probably never get tired of discovering that Harry put the milk in before the cereal, and folded his dirty clothes before putting them in the hamper, and the billion other stupid, charming little things.

The food wasn’t bad either.

“This omelet is incredible,” Louis declared with no reserves whatsoever after exactly three bites. Finals were in full swing and they had been in their new flat for all of a week, still weaving through boxes to get around. It may as well be paradise.

“Yeah? You know there’s vegetables in it, right?”

“That’s low, Haz. I trusted you.”

“I think you’ll forgive me for putting sweet peppers in your ‘incredible’ omelet,” Harry snorted with a roll of his eyes, just before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Drama queen…”

“I’ll consider it. Maybe. If I’m feeling gracious, and if you present a good case for your defense,” replied Louis archly, continuing to shovel egg and apparently vegetables into his mouth.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you, Your Majesty,” Harry teased. He made his way around their little kitchen table and wormed his gangly frame into Louis’ lap. His lips peppered silent little kisses on Louis’ jaw. “I have some ideas for things I could do to apologize,” he murmured.

Phenomenal nature of the omelet aside, it was just going to have to go cold if Harry was going to keep whispering and pressing close to Louis like this. His pulse was speeding up already. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm… I have a very active imagination.”

“That you do, love. Want to share any of these ideas?”

“Well…”

“Yes?”

“If you really want to know…”

“I really, really do.”

“I was thinking I could get you some orange juice to go with that veggie omelette.”

Harry’s eyes are bright with amusement at his own joke, and it makes Louis burst into laughter. “Yeah, that sounds perfect. Always so thoughtful, you are!” he returned cheerily.

One quick peck on the lips and Harry’s off his lap and shuffling to the kitchen, looking a bit ridiculous in the sweats of Louis’ that are far too short for him and still looking every bit as handsome as the day Louis’ met him. He returns with the promised orange juice in hand and a pleasant little smile on his face.

“Here you go,” he says, handing it to Louis. “I love you.”

He might have said ‘the sky is blue’ or ‘grape jam is my favorite,’ for all of the fanfare he gave the little phrase. He didn’t even look at Louis directly, focusing on his own plate with that same careful, pleasant little smile.

Louis, on the other hand, cannot wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. He still hasn’t thought of any words to force out of his mouth when Harry coyly looks up a moment later and starts grinning, too.

And then Louis is lunging across the table, covering every inch of Harry he can find with kisses that all get accompanied with breathy little “oh my god”s and “I love you so much”es. Harry giggles at the tickle of morning scruff and at the giddy feeling in his stomach.

He pretends to pout, though, when Louis pulls back at last. “I thought it wasn’t a big deal,” he protested, “when I said it. You told me it wasn’t important.”

“I told you that it wasn’t important to say it right _then,_ before you were ready to,” corrected Louis. “That wasn’t something you should get pressured into, and besides, I knew you loved me without you saying it.”

“If you knew already, how come you’re about to float through the ceiling now?”

He isn’t wrong. Louis kisses him again, hard. “Well. It’s just really, _really_ fucking nice to hear it anyways.”

So Harry says it again, and again, and sorta kinda never stops saying it.

…………………

“Mum, I swear to you, if you tell me how proud you are one more time I’m going to lose my fu-”

Louis’ swear gets cut off midway by a sharp elbow from Harry, which is really quite lucky considering that their flat contains the little ears of all six of Louis’ younger siblings, including the baby boy that Harry is cooing to like Ernest is his own. “Let your mum gush over you if she wants,” he stops to tell Louis. “She has a right to. You’re _graduating,_ Lou.”

“I still have years left to go in grad school, and I was a mediocre student to start,” Louis retorted with his nose wrinkled in distaste. “Really, you didn’t have to come and bring all the kids, it’s not a big deal-”

“Of course we came,” Joanna interrupted. “Are you joking? The girls haven’t stopped bouncing since I told them we were coming to see you and Harry.”

They were probably more excited about meeting Harry than seeing Louis, if the way that Daisy was plastered to Harry’s leg and chattering excitedly was any indication. The way Harry didn’t skip a beat in talking easily with the little girl tugging on his pocket made Louis’ heart melt in a familiar, fond way.

“It’s still a bit silly,” he said mildly to no one in particular. “I haven’t become a brain surgeon or a cancer researcher or anything, it’s nothing to write home about.”

“Oh, stop,” his mother dismissed. “I have never seen anyone as suited to their future career as you, baby. You’re going to help a lot of people, and you’re going to be great at it. That’s why I’m proud of you.” She kisses him on the cheek and slides Doris into his arms, and he’s hard-pressed to protest after that.

All of the ooey-gooey feelings of having his family in town are just a continuation of the same teary-eyed pride Harry’s been giving him all week. He literally started crying the other day when Louis makes the mistake of mentioning plans for the day of graduation, furiously scrubbing at his damp cheeks as he croaked, “I’m just so _proud_ of you. I just love you so much and you’re going to be so great.”

“I- it’s only a degree,” Louis said weakly, opening his arms for the boy to crawl into.

Harry did, and nuzzled his face into the crook of Louis’ neck. “I just know you’re going to help a bunch of people, because I know how good you are at taking care of me.”

Louis isn’t crying, okay? “I’ve always got you, babe. I will always take care of you.”

But there is no amount of distracting wit, no denials or tricks or evasions that can hide the fact that he’s bawling like a baby when he walks across the stage and gets his diploma, because as he’s queuing up he looks out into the crowd and sees one lanky little green-eyed man holding up a banner that says, “I’m in love with the smartest man in the world (truth).”

Later he pretends to be mad, sniffling indignantly and glaring at his boyfriend with all the ferocity you can muster while wearing a cap with a tassel on it. “Now my eyeliner is all smudged, you asshole,” he mumbles. “My mum will be wanting to take pictures and I’m going to look like a piece of shit in all of them.”

Harry just smiles and pulls a tissue from his pocket to wipe the smudges from beneath Louis’ eyes ever so gently. “Just as beautiful as ever,” he whispers before he plants a slow, sweet kiss on Louis’ mouth. Somewhere off to the side the click of Johanna’s camera and a few adoring coos can be heard, but they don’t pay them any mind.

…………………

If there is not already a path worn in the carpet just inside the door to their flat from Louis’ pacing, there will be by the time Harry gets back. He’s taking _forever._ “How long does it take to go down to the lobby and get the post?” he lamented to the entryway.

The two of them had spent the summer applying to grad schools for Louis, aiming that after a little time off he could start next spring somewhere in London. Now it was autumn and the leaves were falling and that meant one thing: admissions letters were being mailed out. Including those from his top choice school- this week, in fact, if word on the grapevine was accurate.

He’s been determinedly neutral; there was nothing Louis liked less than circumstances he couldn’t control, and therefore he’d thought it was probably best if he just exercised a little expectation management and didn’t let himself get his hopes up. Maybe he would get into the best grad program in London, maybe he wouldn’t. Either way, he was fine. He was totally fine. He was one hundred percent calm and fine.

(He was a nervous wreck.)

The door almost hits him when Harry opens it and hurries inside. “Why are you lurking behind the-? Never mind. You’ve got a letter from them, Louis.”

“Throw it in the trash,” Louis immediately replies. “I don’t want to know. I can’t look. I can’t open it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lou-”

“But what if I didn’t get in?” fretted Louis, a little more honestly than he intended. “I was absolute shit until the last semester and a half, why the fuck would a school like that want _me?”_

“Because your grades picked way up, and they’ll see that. Plus, you have recommendations from a bunch of professors, and you nailed your exit exams. That’s the stuff that matters,” Harry soothed, as firm and comforting as Louis always was to him.

“Yeah, but that stuff is a reflection on you more than me,” protested Louis. _“You_ made me study. _You_ made me network with my professors.”

“I didn’t take your exams for you and I didn’t hold a gun to anybody’s head for those letters. You deserve this,” Harry said earnestly. “You deserve this more than anyone. I promise.”

There’s faith in his eyes that almost makes Louis cave, but he doesn’t. “I can’t open it,” he says with finality, turning away to busy himself making tea. “Toss it. It’s rubbish. I’ll just stay working at the library, that’s all.”

He should have known, when Harry didn’t say anything else. Louis was smart enough to know that his boyfriend was _not_ done fighting this fight, which was why he should have been smart enough to know what was coming next.

The opened envelope and the letter it contained flopped down on the counter in front of him just before Harry turned him around, put his hands on Louis’ waist, and kissed him hard.“You’re in.”

And that was the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. (deep inhale, slow exhale, internal monologue of therapeutic advice to myself on how healthy and natural the process of letting go is, brief existential crisis, more regulated breathing)
> 
> What to say at the end of a 110K fic of angst and fluff and drama and smut?! Not too much I haven't said already except to reiterate how _truly and profoundly honored_ I am at the enthusiasm and dedication of y'all, my readers. There's been fanart, fic recs, _endless_ messages of support... y'all have made it such a joy to share this story and you make me want to write 110,000 more words!
> 
> Speaking of which...
> 
> In the interest of not writing an excessively long and slow-moving fic (well, I hope I avoided that, anyways) I had to cut out a lot of scenes (so much unincluded smut, wow) and not explain a lot of backstory (why is Thomas a dick? how come Louis has so many goddamn tattoos? how did Ziall even fall for each other) and neglect what comes after the FIN.
> 
> So at some point in the future, I'll make a series out of this and the second part will be all little deleted scenes and character bios and other fun stuff! Not something you HAVE to read, but if you're interested in Ziall making out on top of a pile of sketchbooks and Harry tying Louis up because he loves him, I highly encourage you to subscribe so you get the updates ;)
> 
> Anyways, thank you thank you thank you for sticking around for an entire month and sharing this awesome experience with me! You all rock. And I love you like I love Louis in eyeliner (and that ain't no joke).
> 
> xoxo,
> 
> canonlarry | tumblr


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